


Too Damn Late (Right on Time)

by njw



Series: Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Canonical Temporary Character Death, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Multiverse, Time Travel, Timeline Shenanigans, dicktimweek, different relationships in different universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: It’s really weird that Dick is not quite twenty years old right now compared to Tim’s seventeen, soon to be eighteen. He seems so much younger than he did the first time around, when a twelve year old Tim tracked him down and tried to convince him to go back to being Robin.Dick has already surprised him by seemingly accepting his wild story about time travel. Well, hopefully he’ll be willing to go out on even more of a limb now.Now, how best to phrase this? Jason’s his dead little brother—I have to find a way to tell him my plan delicately.“Hey Dick,” Tim says, and then freezes as his mind abruptly goes blank. He stares at Dick, who returns his gaze expectantly. He opens his mouth and blurts out, “How are you at gravedigging?”*This story is standalone and can be read separately from the rest of the series.*For thetumblr Dicktim weekday one time travel/moonlight prompt.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Where's My Goddamn Dinosaur [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1007550
Comments: 442
Kudos: 1619
Collections: All Time Travel All the time, Ashes' Library, Dick Tim Week 2019, Time Travel Fics That Water My Crops





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this started as a what-if scenario for the Where’s My Goddamn Dinosaur series that ballooned. To make this a standalone story, I borrowed a chunk of the first chapter of Where’s My Goddamn Dinosaur so the events in the story would make sense. If things seem oddly familiar just at first, that’s why. Divergence really begins partway through the second scene. 
> 
> Many thanks to EleanorC and Meaninglessblah for the lovely beta!
> 
> Enjoy!

Red Robin’s shaking as his gauntleted hand closes on the device, lifting it out of the triple-locked box with all the reverence and care he has time for, which is to say, none. This is it, the one chance to avert disaster, to stop it all from ever happening. He wobbles a bit as he carries the tech across the Cave, then collapses back into the seat at the Batcomputer, which is still displaying the file that gave him back a dim flicker of hope.

He turns the device in his hands, willing them steady and hardly daring to breathe as he checks the interface and power supply. This is the only possible chance, and even with it, he’s calculated the odds. They’re not good. The tech is risky, just as likely to blow him up along with a good portion of the eastern seaboard as it is to successfully send him back in time one week. He forces his breathing steady as he acknowledges that will not be a problem. He saw the footage, heard the reports before the comms went chillingly quiet, and he knows.

There's no one out there left to worry about.

His head spins sickeningly as hellish memories from the past few days start to play out in his mind again, but he reels it back and concentrates on the here and now. No use remembering the way his family and friends fought against the attacking aliens, gave it everything they had, and still lost _._ Definitely not constructive to dwell on the bombs afterward that resulted in the destruction of everything above ground level across most of the continental United States, and probably the rest of the world as well.

The Cave on lockdown is reinforced, resistant to every potential outcome a paranoid Batman could come up with over the years, and so Tim keeps surviving. Alone. He pulls it back, forcing useless emotion out and order in to his thoughts. If he gets this right, he can fix it.

_I can still fix this._

Tim focuses on the device, locking away all other thoughts and emotions. No need to process his grief, fear, and loss when in a few minutes he’ll either have everyone back, one week ago with foreknowledge to prevent this whole mess, or he’ll be dead and beyond sorrow’s reach.

As an added complication, even if the device does work as advertised, the potential energy produced by rolling back _everything_ for one week, the accumulated energy of every action that would have been during that week, will be _immense._

According to Bruce’s recordings of the villain who originally had this device, that extra energy will be focused on the user. While the user and the original universe go back in time one week, an identical copy of the user will be created, like a reflection or echo, and that copy will be propelled much farther into the past, into a new alternate universe which will spin off and diverge from the original universe from whatever moment in time the copy lands. Tim’s head hurts thinking about the physics involved, but Bruce checked the math meticulously and it all fits.

Everything on the device appears to be intact. He closes his eyes, calculating. Based on the energy involved for a one week reset, he’s looking at a minimum displacement of about five years for the copy. His eyes sting as he fully grasps that if this works, one Tim will get to reunite with his friends and family, hold them and speak to them again, and work together to unleash all the contingencies and strategies he’s come up with to kick those invading alien assholes the fuck out, and the other Tim… won’t. He’ll wake up somewhen, isolated and traumatized, without friends, family, or any allies at all.

Well, shit. Whatever, at least Other Tim will know it worked. And he’s never minded the idea of sacrificing himself to save others. He confirms the calibration of the device, and pushes the big red button. Of fucking course there’s a big red button, supervillains are so predictable.

His last thought as the lights explode in his head and he tastes color is, _I hope computers are a thing whenever Other Tim lands. I’d hate to be put on trial for witchcraft. Fuck it, if I overshoot I’m gonna ride a goddamn dinosaur. Hell. Yes._

* * *

Tim wakes up in the Cave and opens his eyes. He’s slouched in a chair in front of a version of the Batcomputer he doesn’t recognize. It’s a bit clunky and outdated compared to the one he’s used to, and his eyes widen as he scans the Cave, pulse racing at what he sees. Or rather, what he doesn’t see. Batmobile, cars, bikes—everything’s an older model than usual, and the Redbird’s missing.

That isn’t what catches his breath in his throat so tight he feels like he’s suffocating, though. It’s the case. Jason’s memorial case, the one he used to talk to when he was Robin. The painful display showcasing the tattered uniform of a murdered boy as both a reminder and heavy accusation for everyone to see. It’s gone. Or rather, it isn’t there _yet._

“Well, fuck me,” Tim whispers. “I’m Other Tim.” He heaves a shuddering sigh, feeling the adrenaline drop of days fighting invaders with no real down time, followed by more than sixty hours alone in the Cave getting everything ready for the plan. Well, clearly he won’t be the Tim enacting that plan.

He slumps in the chair, feeling a headache coming on. “Where’s my goddamn dinosaur?”

Tim isn’t sure when he last slept, only that he’s definitely passed the seventy-two-hour cutoff beyond which he usually begins to experience light hallucinations. Just mildly concerning but impossible things, like Bruce with actual bat wings, Dick choosing celery over cereal, Red Hood proudly wearing the old dildo helmet in battle, or Damian smiling sweetly. Total nonsense, obviously, but harmless. Whatever.

He thinks about the others, and knows if at this point in time Jason isn’t dead then there’s no way any of them even knows Tim exists. He hasn’t yet pushed his way into their lives to become Robin and eventually grow to be part of the family.

His eyes prickle and his heart _aches_ at the knowledge he will never see his family again, and if he does, it will be as a stranger. The idea of having to physically defend himself against them almost makes him sick.

Batman is not going to be pleased to find an unknown intruder here, and he’s definitely the type to punch first and grunt interrogatively later. Tim wonders morosely if today’s the day he’ll finally have to implement time travel contingency 36: _travel to a time that predates his involvement with Batman_ , subpart c: _fighting his way out of a hostile Batcave._

He blinks, focusing and dismissing errant background thoughts such as the strategic rundown of the Batman suit’s weak points, plans to establish a new cover identity in this time, and a wistful desire to check up on and possibly befriend his younger self. His thoughts sharpen to a single profoundly important point. _Jason’s not dead._

A heartbeat later, he realizes his assumptions are faulty.

On closer inspection, the workstation that should belong to Robin is bare, no tools or half-finished projects scattered across the surface. There’s no sign at all of Robin, of _Jason,_ in the Cave. Nor are there any indications of Tim himself, so it’s unlikely his younger counterpart has entered the picture yet. The animatronic dinosaur is present and accounted for, though, so Dick’s sojourn as Robin has clearly already happened. A brief moment of regret passes through his mind at that realization.

_If I’d gone back far enough, maybe I could have saved Dick’s parents. Protected him from all that hurt…_

Tim blinks away the thought, knowing he has to concentrate on what’s real—not might-have-beens—if he’s going to manage to survive in this time and, just maybe, do some good. He doesn’t want to think about his probable fate, alone and marooned in a time without allies or resources. He’s flown without a safety net before and knows the odds are not in his favor. Still, if he can just do something to make things _better_ here, to prevent some of the tragedies that brought so much heartache the first time around…

It’ll be worth it.

So, has he gone back to before Jason joined Batman’s cause? Possibly the brief period of time right after Dick was fired as Robin and left?

_If that’s the case, I could do so much good. Avert so many crimes, save Jason when the time comes, and keep the family from ever having to experience being ripped apart by his death. Save my parents, too, and little me would never have any reason to try to be Robin._

If that thought causes a stab of pain in his heart, he ignores it. That way lies too much pain, as he well knows. No. If Jason Todd is scrounging around on the streets of Gotham right now, perhaps about to steal the tires off the Batmobile sometime in the coming days, well, Tim is going to make damn sure his story plays out differently this time. Maybe he can even intervene to help get the kid off the streets without sticking him straight into a cape. That might just be best for everyone.

The grim state of the Cave seems to lend support to the theory, but then again… He’s forced to admit there’s another possibility.

This could also be the time period after Jason’s death, but before Tim intervened to try to stop Batman’s downward spiral. The trophies would look the same, he realizes, remembering once asking Alfred about the trophies from Jason’s time as Robin. The old man answered quietly and calmly to inform him that immediately after losing Jason, Batman had removed everything from the Cave that reminded him of his lost son.

It might fit. And if the tragedy happened recently enough, that would explain why the memorial case hasn’t been built yet.

_Damn, I really hope this turns out to be after Dick was fired and not after Jason died. It’s going to be hard enough to pull off everything I’ve got planned without having to contend with Batman at his very worst, as well._

Dreading confirmation of his growing suspicions, Tim quickly but carefully inputs the root access codes he knows Bruce implemented years ago in case the computer is ever subverted by a villain and Batman needs to regain access after losing control.

He knows the current rotation of passwords and how Bruce thinks, so he extrapolates the patterns back and he’s in in under a minute. The system attempts to send Batman a notification, but he ruthlessly disables it with numb fingers, still staring at the date shown on the screen.

All his half-formed plans of averting the second Robin’s tragedy to save the family from experiencing a terrible loss that ripped them all apart crumble like ash. It’s too late. He’s not going to be able to save Jason Todd, after all.

_Today’s the funeral. I’m too damn late. Oh god. That’s why the Cave is empty. They’re all at Jason’s funeral._

He just stares at the computer screen for a long moment, thoughts and contingencies rearranging themselves in his mind. A new plan rises, one with a breathtakingly low probability of success. It doesn’t matter, though. As soon as the possibility occurs to him, he knows this is something he has to do.

Only… Tim frowns, realizing there’s a snag in his plan.

He isn’t going to be able to pull this off on his own.

* * *

Dick stares in blank disbelief at the newspaper article before him, which claims Haly’s Circus is going to close after over sixty years of entertaining and enthralling audiences. His already shaky sense of purpose wavers as he feels one more foundational piece of his life, his past, crumble away beneath him. He doesn’t know how much more of this he’s going to be able to handle.

In his mind’s eye he sees a fresh grave, his little brother’s name carved in stone. Bruce Wayne, the man who raised them both, never even called to tell him what happened. Sure, Nightwing had been halfway across the universe at the time, but he could have at least left a message that Jason was—that Jason…

 _I should have been there,_ he thinks, throat tightening with grief. _I’m the one who gave him my old Robin suit. I should have known, should have been able to save him. Even Bruce thinks so. He blames me, too._

And as for Bruce’s reaction, well. A punch in the face wasn’t what he’d hoped for when he’d gone to confront him, but he shouldn’t really be surprised. They’re neither of them at their best when dealing with loss. And losing _Jason,_ someone they both should have protected, hit them both right in their deepest vulnerabilities. If only he had someone to lean on right now. He’s so damn tired.

_I wish Kory…_

But that’s out of the question, of course. Kory’s incredible—smart and gorgeous, passionate and caring. She burns so bright that sometimes it’s hard to take his eyes off her, but she isn’t his anymore. They’re still tentatively finding their footing working together again after ending their romantic relationship when Starfire entered into a political marriage on her homeworld. It hurt like hell, and still does, but… It wouldn’t have worked between them, not after she chose her father’s edict and marriage to another man over him and what they’d had together.

All of that just leaves him even more alone, now. And with Cyborg temporarily leading the Titans so Dick can deal with his personal matters, with _Jason’s death,_ he feels oddly at loose ends. Glancing at the newspaper again, he continues reading past the glaring headline that floored him before. The continuation of the article states the circus will be coming through on their final tour in just a few days. His fingers drum lightly on the surface of the desk as he thinks. A moment later, he nods decisively, brightening a little as an idea forms in his mind. He’ll go to Haly’s when they’re in the area, maybe see if it’s true what they say about the past.

You can never go back. Deep down, he knows it’s true, and aches with the knowledge. Lately, it seems as though every step forward is another step further from a time when he was happy.

Inhaling, he rises to his feet and then heads to the door. He’s feeling jittery, full of restless energy that should be directed at _something._ Maybe he can go on a quick walk, grab some groceries to kill time before coming back to work on cases until it’s dark enough to head out on patrol.

_My home and the family I’ve found may be self-destructing all around me, but at least I can go see my first home again, one last time. Maybe Zitka will still remember me._

A smile tugs at his lips, the first one in what feels like days. And hey, if the circus just needs an influx of cash to keep it going, maybe he can help out with that, too. After all, what’s money for if not spending it on the things and people that you care about?

Dick’s smiling and walking with a lighter step right up until he swings open the apartment door, then falters, brows rising in surprise. There’s a man—no, on second glance the guy’s maybe in his late teens, a couple years younger than Dick—standing in front of his door, hand raised as though in preparation to knock.

The teen blinks wide, startled blue eyes as the door swings open in his face. He recovers from his surprise quickly. “Hi,” he says with a small but friendly-looking smile. He pushes some of his loose, dark hair out of his face and then gives an awkward wave. “I’m Tim Drake. I know about your dad’s, uh, vested interest in nocturnal aerial wildlife, and I want to talk to you about how the local robins have recently become an endangered species.”

_What the hell?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, using experimental tech in last-ditch effort to save the world:** “YEET!” *Wakes up in distant past, realizes he’s Other Tim* “Dammit! Well, at least maybe I can save Jason—”  
>  **Batcomputer:** *Shows date of Jason’s funeral*  
>  **Tim:** “DOUBLE DAMMIT!!”  
> *  
>  **Dick, moping through existential crisis:** “I just wish I wasn’t so LONELY—” *Opens door, sees Tim*  
>  **Tim:** “Yo” *Waves* “Btw I totes know about Robin”  
>  **Dick:** “Wtf”


	2. Chapter 2

Dick’s already shaking his head as he uses his foot to try to edge this apparently way too knowledgeable young man away from his door. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but—” He gets a hand on the shorter man’s back and is momentarily startled by the muscle mass he feels on the deceptively slim form, hidden by the loose hoodie. His estimation of this guy’s threat level ratchets up a couple of notches.

Well, he’s just planted a tracker on the teen’s hoodie. As soon as he manages to get rid of him, he can tail him back to wherever he came from and find out if he really does know anything potentially compromising about his or Batman’s secret identity.

Only it doesn’t work out the way he’s planning at all. In a move Dick recognizes because it’s his own, Tim slides under his arm, breaking his hold while somehow eeling his way around his body to end up inside the apartment. Grinning, the young man then proceeds to just _make himself at home._

“Excuse me,” Dick says, torn between anger and disbelief as the teen pulls a slim laptop out of the backpack he’s wearing. He then flops down on the couch and settles in, typing away as though he does this every day. It’s baffling. “What the _hell?”_

Tim flinches and looks up, apparently startled at the sound of his voice. He blinks, refocusing on Dick.

Now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious this guy is exhausted. The dark shadows under his eyes are a major indicator, as is the faint tremor of his hands on the keyboard. Then there’s the fact that he just stared off into space for a few seconds, head drooping, before he visibly jerked himself back to awareness.

 _Geez, he’s dead on his feet._

Pity pushes aside Dick’s suspicion for the moment. “Look, tell me where you live and I’ll call you a cab. You clearly need some rest, and your parents must be worried—” He can always gather intel later. Considering the state this guy’s in right now, he probably isn’t even going to remember what he’s been babbling about, anyway.

“No,” Tim interrupts, gaze sharpening into laser focus again. “My parents don’t know I’m here because I’m actually at school right now.”

_Well okay then, Mr. Crazy._

Dick doesn’t even blink. He’s pretty used to humoring crazy people, after all. “That’s great,” he says soothingly, wondering how the heck his nice quiet morning of existential crisis turned into this.

“You’re not taking me seriously,” Tim accuses, which. Well, yeah. “Look, I know you’re Nightwing. You used to be _Robin.”_

_Wait, what?_

Dick snaps to mental alertness, his amusement dissipating. _Okay, now I’m definitely paying attention._ “Who are you working for?”

“What?” The teen blinks in what looks like genuine confusion, then shakes his head. “No one, I’m just trying to help. So. You were Robin, and after that Jason Todd became Robin. When _he_ died, Bruce Wayne went all to pieces. _Batman._ ”

Setting aside the depth charge the revelation of Tim’s knowledge of their identities just set off inside him, Dick frowns. Something about that sentence wasn’t right. Oh. “B hasn’t gone all to pieces.” Batman hasn’t even taken any time off patrol in the weeks since Jason’s death. Dick knows how deep the older man’s grief truly is, but from an outside perspective, losing Robin hasn’t changed him much at all. Maybe a little more intense on patrols, more violent, but… His frown deepens.

_Oh._

“That’s right,” Tim says, leaning his head back on the couch and suddenly looking even more tired than before, if possible. “You say that because you haven’t seen him at his worst yet. But you will. Over the next days and weeks, he gets more reckless. Rougher with the criminals, using more force than necessary. His fists instead of his mind. Not making allowances for his own physical limitations. To the point that I thought he was going to _kill_ someone, and it just might be himself.”

Dick’s shaking his head in denial. No way. “Look, I can tell you’ve been thinking about these… _theories_ of yours a lot, but we’re not—”

Tim rolls on as though he hadn’t spoken. “That’s why I went to him and became Robin, in about a week, back when I was twelve. Because Batman needs a Robin, to remind him of what he used to be.” He nods decisively, apparently blithely unaware of how utterly _insane_ he sounds.

_What the what?_

“Uh.” Dick pauses, trying to figure out the gentlest way to coax a coherent story out of the possibly insane but apparently well-meaning young man sprawled so trustingly on his couch. He means to ask about the secret identity thing, he really does, but… “You’re actually twelve, and what, some kind of _time traveler?”_

The younger teen heaves a big, shuddering sigh. “Time traveler, yes. The me in this time is twelve and a half because I went back five years, and it should’ve been five years and five _days_ because then I could’ve saved _Jason,_ but—”

Tim’s breath hitches and he bites his lip, blinking. Dick is _so confused_ right now. This guy is clearly crazy enough for Arkham, and obviously knows far more about their secret identities than is good for anyone. Yet, for some reason, Dick finds himself fighting the urge to draw him into his arms for a comforting hug.

_Must be those big blue eyes. Or maybe the fact that he looks so huggable and cute in that oversized hoodie. Which… huh. Isn’t that one of my old ones I left in the Cave?_

Dick’s brain maybe explodes slightly at the thought, before he tosses it aside on the ever-growing heap of burning questions he has about this guy. Who is now hunching into himself slightly, looking lost and alone in a way that tugs at his heart.

Well, it won’t be the first time he’s hugged a criminal. “C’mere,” he says, dropping down on the couch next to the younger man and opening his arms invitingly. Tim blinks in surprise, then nestles right up to him and melts into his arms with a soft sigh, laptop sliding off to rest safely at his other side.

This might not be the best way to deal with what really almost amounts to a home invasion. Dick considers for a moment, then mentally shrugs. If worse comes to worst, he always has the spare escrima sticks hidden under the cushions.

But he’s pretty sure he could overpower this guy with a strong wind, considering he’s so exhausted and overwrought he’s shaking in Dick’s arms. Tim’s babbling now, face buried in his chest, “—time travel, Dick, and there’s so much I had to do to get ready, and it might not even _work_ in the end but I have to try. I don’t know when Jason’s going to wake up and I’ve _got_ to get him out of there before that happens, so I haven’t slept except when I absolutely had to, and—”

He cuts off, probably because Dick’s arms just tightened around him at the mention of his little brother’s name. “What did you just say? What do you mean, Jason’s going to _wake up?”_ He grips the other teen’s shoulders and tilts him back so he can stare into those wet blue eyes.

Tim looks open and earnest, awareness returning to his eyes as he manages an almost-coherent answer. “Sometime over the next few months, Jason’s going to wake up in his grave.” His expression must give away his stunned disbelief at that statement, because the other teen snorts and rolls his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, in our line of work impossible things happen all the time. Anyway, we never managed to reconstruct exactly when it happened, but we do know he was admitted to Gotham General as a John Doe on a date about six months from now, heavily injured, and was catatonic for a year. He didn’t have obvious post-mortem injuries like the autopsy incision, so I’ve always thought maybe he woke up fully healed and mentally well in his coffin.” He takes a breath, shuddering, and closes his eyes.

Dick has a feeling he doesn’t want to hear what the teen in his arms is about to say next. He has no idea what to think about any of this, but if there’s even a _chance_ Jason might somehow return to life… 

Tim continues, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “I’ve never told anyone, but I have this theory that Jason’s catatonia was the result of hypoxia and mental trauma he endured while breaking out of his coffin and digging his way free of his grave.”

“Oh god,” Dick whispers, grief twisting his heart in horror at that possibility. This is all crazy, and there’s no logical reason to believe any of it. Somehow, that knowledge does nothing to push away the image in his mind’s eye of his little brother, confused and scared, alone in the dark and in such terrible pain. “Oh _god.”_

The other teen is still talking. “And then he was probably wandering around in that condition, disoriented, and got hurt. Maybe by people, maybe hit by a car near the cemetary. Anyway. I can’t tell any of this to Batman. He’s so paranoid he’d never let himself believe me. If I went to _him,_ I’d probably still be tied up in an interrogation room by the time Jason woke up in his grave, and the same damn thing would happen again, right down to the Lazarus Pit.”

_Lazarus Pit?! This gets even worse?_

Dick must make a noise, his horror and dismay at the very idea of his little brother being exposed to that madness forcing its way out in a deep groan of visceral denial. His heart is pounding, he’s forgotten all about the circus, and he realizes with some surprise that he’s actually willing to consider some of what this guy is saying. Believes him on some level, based on a myriad of tiny clues that all scream that he, at least, considers it to be the truth. “Tim,” he says, nudging the armful of teen who—huh, seems to have fallen asleep on his chest.

Eyeing the admittedly very pretty face resting on his shoulder, Dick briefly considers waking him up to force him to explain himself further. Then he spots the laptop, resting just a short distance away on the couch. Stretching slightly to snag it with his fingertips, he then drags it over and sets it up within reach. He wants to be able to type one-handed so as not to disturb the warm, relaxed form resting on him so trustingly. Tim stirs and he freezes, but the other teen only burrows his face farther into Dick’s shoulder with a small, happy-sounding sigh.

_Aww._

All of it just adds to the evidence that there’s something to Tim’s bizarre story. His familiarity with Dick’s moves, evident trust and care for him, and of course his knowledge of their vigilante lives are all points which speak in his favor. That doesn’t mean he’s telling the whole truth, though, or that he is as well-intentioned as he appears.

“Marshmallows,” Tim mutters into his shoulder, and Dick’s heart melts a little more. He really hopes this guy is on the up-and-up, if only because he’s already starting to grow on him and it’s going to suck if he has to fight him later.

Glancing down at the laptop, he realizes the display is already full of windows. Possibly evidence Tim intended to show him? There’s a slew of what looks like villain profiles, case synopses, and records of major catastrophic events with _future dates_ cascading across the screen. All of it is organized in a familiar style, not unlike the Batcomputer.

 _Huh,_ he thinks, glancing down at the tuft of dark hair which is all he can make out now that Tim’s buried his face in his hoodie and Dick’s chest. _Guess there just might be something to that time travel thing he mentioned, after all._ Inhaling deeply and trying to ignore the burgeoning hope rising within him—Jason might _wake up,_ he might get a chance to see his little brother again!—Dick clicks on the first file.

* * *

Tim awakens slowly, conscious of a sense of warmth and safety wrapped around him like a soft blanket. Wait, that’s _actually_ a soft blanket. He tenses, not trusting the sensation of blankets and yielding mattress. This definitely doesn’t feel like the floor of the apartment he’s been squatting in since he landed in this time period. But he doesn’t feel as though he’s in danger, either. He frowns, wondering why, and chases that thought until— _oh._

He stiffens further, cheeks flaming as memories of last night flood through his mind, along with a deluge of embarrassment. Burying his face in the pillow in a belated attempt to hide his shame, he muffles a groan of horror.

_Great. My chance to make a great first impression on Dick Grayson, and instead I showed up babbling like a crazy person before crying all over him and then falling asleep. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out I drooled on him, too._

He winces, realizing Dick must have carried him in here. Well, at least he didn’t wake up in an interrogation cell? That absolutely would have been the result if he’d tried to go to Bruce with any of this, so the current situation totally still counts as a win.

Tim briefly considers just keeping his eyes closed in a doomed attempt to avoid dealing with the fallout of his pathetic, sleep-deprived effort to enlist Dick’s help. Then reason takes hold and he reluctantly acknowledges that hiding from his humiliation would seriously hinder carrying out the rest of his plans. Also, Dick would probably need the bed back eventually, so there’s that.

_Ugh, stupid sense of responsibility._

Opening his eyes, he sees he is lying on the bed in what’s almost certainly Dick’s own room, judging by the personal items and discarded clothing which lie scattered around on every available surface. His shoes and hoodie have been removed, and after a moment he spots them piled up on a chair nearby. There’s a water bottle on the bedside table which seems to be meant for him, so he cracks it open and eagerly drinks before making his way to the ensuite to take care of some other morning necessities.

More physically comfortable but still dreading facing the other teen again, Tim makes his way out to the rest of the apartment. He finds Dick sitting at a mildly cluttered kitchen table. The man looks surprisingly perky, considering how depressed he’d seemed yesterday. He’s in the process of finishing off what’s most likely at least his fourth bowl of sugary cereal, and there’s an extra bowl ready and waiting at the spot next to him. He is staring at—Tim winces—Tim’s secret laptop, and he’s clearly been helping himself to the files there.

_Whoops. I probably should’ve gotten more sleep before coming over here. I kind of went off script last night instead of laying out my case in a logical, convincing way like I’d planned._

Only he hadn’t had time to take a nap before coming over. Jason could wake up at literally any moment. Between instigating the fall of a few minor criminal organizations, liberating the illegal funds from their secret accounts that were just going to sit there figuratively gathering dust otherwise, and faking enough of an identity to rent an apartment and get all the essentials set up, he’s been stretching himself pretty thin. But at least he’s got everything ready now. All he needs is a little assistance with the final steps to implement his big plan.

“What are you doing?” Tim asks, sitting down at the table beside this younger version of the man who taught him so much, fought at his side through so many triumphs and challenges, and doesn’t remember any of it. He needs to be careful not to get ahead of himself and assume Dick’s just going to throw himself into helping. It’s not like he has any reason to trust him, after all.

It’s not like Tim matters to him. The thought twists like a knife, scraping against all the just-healed scars of _his_ Dick having taken Robin away and tossed him out like yesterday’s trash. It shouldn’t matter. They’d talked about it, back in his time period. Worked things out. He knows the older man hadn’t meant it that way, never intended to make him feel rejected. Dick made it very clear how much he loves Tim, how important and precious he considers him.

But there’s a lump gathering in his throat because none of that matters here. Tim means nothing to _this_ Dick, and this is the one he has now. He’s beginning to realize just how deeply that’s going to hurt.

_Okay. I’ve got to hold it together, start my presentation from scratch, and hope I didn’t burn all my chances of him giving me the benefit of the doubt with my performance last night…_

Dick turns to face him, smiling brightly. “Oh, good morning, Tim! I’m just about to send off a data packet to the Justice League with all this handy data from your Legacy Drive. Boring name, by the way. As a former Robin, you should definitely think of something cool and bird-themed to call it.”

_What? Also, heck no, none of your bird-themed names for stuff are even a little bit cool._

“Uh,” Tim croaks, throat suddenly dry. _“What?”_ That data’s sensitive. If the wrong people get their hands on it, the destruction of their world would be the _best_ case scenario. There’s information on that drive which could result in the collapse of the known universe.

The older teen seems to pick up on his sudden horror, because his brows fly up and he looks immediately apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that I’ve been up all night reading about the history of your world. Started with your file—nice photos, by the way!” He winks, causing Tim to blush. “That’s when I realized you’ve _always_ been a bat. The stalking tendencies just started extra young, for you.”

“Shut up,” Tim mutters, not feeling awake enough to properly formulate a good comeback. But he feels himself smiling at the other teen’s friendly demeanor. _Maybe I didn’t ruin everything, after all._

Dick grins brightly before continuing. “I made my way through the files for the rest of the family, and _wow,_ there are some doozies in there. But it makes sense, even most of the craziness with Jason. And then I started to spiral out into reading about major disasters, and that led to me falling down the rabbit hole of your insanely detailed contingency plans—your ideas for kickstarting the scientific method early if you landed pre-seventeenth century were _adorable,_ by the way, although the number of contingencies you felt the need to make specifically for being accused of witchcraft were somewhat concerning.”

Tim narrows his eyes. “I’d rather be overprepared than burnt at the stake, Dick. And you _know_ they’d assume that little mole on my ribs was a superfluous third nipple and call it a witch’s mark.” Dick’s brows fly up, and Tim blushes as he belatedly realizes this Dick has no reason to know about that mole. Oh well, it’s not like he hasn’t already embarrassed himself beyond repair. At this point he probably can’t make things any worse. “Besides, I might, possibly, have been running on three days with no sleep when I made that one. Cut me a little slack.” He rolls his eyes and digs into his cereal, crunching irritably. It’s annoyingly delicious. He glares at it.

Dick beams at him. “All valid points. Anyway, that’s how I happened on this nice little data packet that looked tailor-made for the JLA in this time period. It contains records of the corrective actions superhero organizations and governments of your world implemented in response to recent major disasters and supervillain activities. These should, theoretically, prevent those events from recurring here. I see there are even redundancies in place to account for the future diverging. Plus another packet addressed to Batman, filled with evidence to convict numerous criminals before they strike again.”

_Yeah, well, there’s only one problem with all of that…_

“I can’t send those off until after I’ve got Jason somewhere safe, just in case I tip my hand and Batman manages to locate and detain me to figure out how I know so much.” Tim inhales deeply, then sighs, feeling tired despite the uninterrupted night of sleep. “I’m planning to send it all right after I get him moved to the safe house I have set up.”

Dick shifts in his seat, not meeting his gaze. Damn it. Tim closes his eyes, feeling an incipient headache coming on. “You already sent it all off, didn’t you?” Of _course_ he did.

The other man nods with an apologetic shrug. “Yep, just now while we were talking. But don’t worry! I told them I got the information from a time traveler, and if I left them with the impression that it was a time traveling version of _me,_ well, that should keep the heat off of you, right?”

Tim blinks. That’s… brilliant, actually. Thinking it through, he’s pretty sure that’s a way better compromise than his plan to just sit on the Legacy Drive until after he was sure Jason was secure. This way, more people will be saved faster. “Thanks, Dick.” Finishing his cereal, he sets down the spoon and then leans back in his seat to study the other teen.

It’s really weird that Dick is not quite twenty years old right now compared to Tim’s seventeen, soon to be eighteen. He seems so much younger than he did the first time around, when a twelve year old Tim tracked him down and tried to convince him to go back to being Robin.

_Good thing it’ll still be a week or so before little me decides to save Batman from his dark path. I should be able to divert him from that with a little carefully planted distraction, at least long enough to see if Jason actually wakes up. No one’s getting replaced in this universe, not if I can help it._

Dick has already surprised him by seemingly accepting his wild story about time travel. Of course, having the chance to trawl through the Legacy Drive unhindered probably assisted on that front. And he even helped find a way to get the ball rolling on using the data from the future to prevent crimes in the present without drawing undue suspicion to Tim himself. Well, hopefully he’ll be willing to go out on even more of a limb now.

_Now, how best to phrase this? Jason’s his dead little brother—I have to find a way to tell him my plan delicately._

“Hey Dick,” Tim says, and then freezes as his mind abruptly goes blank. He stares at Dick, who returns his gaze expectantly. He opens his mouth and blurts out, “How are you at gravedigging? Because Jason’s body isn’t just going to dig itself up—well, I guess technically, it _is,_ but I think we can all agree we’d rather avoid _that_ —ahem. Anyway. Wanna help me steal a body? We should do it soon, I mean, he _is_ embalmed, but the fresher the better, right?”

He finally manages to cut off his own appalling babble and winces, flushing. As his mind catches up with everything he just said, he barely resists the urge to facepalm in horror at the stream of _what the heck_ that just came out of his mouth.

 _Whoops. I totally nailed it, if my goal was to do that in the least sensitive manner possible,_ he thinks glumly as he watches Dick’s eyes go round as saucers. _Damn, I shouldn’t even be allowed to speak before coffee, I’m an actual human disaster. Dick’s probably going to hand me over to Batman now and wash his hands of me. I wouldn’t even blame him._

But Dick surprises him by nodding once, resolutely. “Yeah, I saw the plans for _that,_ too. Do you really think it’s going to work?”

Tim studies him carefully, heartened by the banked hope and what looks like the beginnings of trust he sees on the other teen’s handsome face. “Yeah,” he answers finally, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a half smile. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, ranting, with crazy eyes:** “—and I crossed the timestreams but it only made a new universe and that’s okay except JASON and do you know how difficult it is to calculate the exact optimum night to steal a corpse from BATMAN??” *Passes out on Dick’s shoulder*  
>  **Dick, staring wide eyed at this crazy guy who just fell asleep on him:** “Damn there must be some WILD new drugs on the streets to cause THIS” *Finds Tim’s computer, reads everything on it* “Oh wait no, now it makes sense”  
> *  
>  **Tim, waking up in Dick’s bed:** *Raises a suggestive eyebrow* “Wtf did I do last night” *Remembers* “Oh that’s way less fun than I was imagining”  
> *  
> Note: quotes this chapter adapted from New Titans #60


	3. Chapter 3

Nightwing crosses his arms, tapping his foot as he sits in the driver’s seat of the van Tim got from somewhere. The thick, ominous clouds block what little light the tiny sliver of moon might provide, which means the only illumination in the darkness is the eerie glow of the laptop being used by the man in the passenger seat. The near-moonless night and a rising mist reduce visibility to just the small area immediately around the van. If he hadn’t driven them himself, he would have no idea they’re parked a short distance from the cemetery gates. All he can see beyond the confines of the vehicle is darkness. It feels otherworldly, like anything might happen.

 _Definitely not creepy at all. Good thing I’m not getting any serial killer vibes from Red Robin over there. Although his costume_ is _red and black, which means it totally wouldn’t show bloodstains…_

Nightwing shifts infinitesimally farther away from the potential serial killer sitting to his right. Then images flash through his mind of Tim’s adorable bedhead, the way he actually walked into a wall this morning before he got coffee, and how freaking cuddly he gets when he’s tired. Plus, the Legacy Drive files said the red and black in his uniform was in homage to Superboy, whomever that is, so yeah. Probably not a serial killer. He relaxes again, drumming his fingers on his elbow while he waits.

Red Robin’s fingers move rapidly over the laptop keyboard, probably checking his workarounds on the Batcomputer monitoring feeds for the umpteenth time. He’s definitely showing his training and proving himself as a former Robin, not that Nightwing really had any lingering doubts at this point. After spending the last couple of days together setting up for this heist, he’s pretty sure he has the other teen’s measure. Red Robin is brilliant, dedicated, conscientious, highly skilled, and above all, kind. And his sleek, red and black-accented costume with loaded bandoliers and a multipurpose cape is seriously impressive, if a little lacking in style overall.

Which reminds him… 

“My costume is _not_ that bad,” he says, recalling the way Tim took one look at him in his suit earlier and then started sputtering with laughter, wheezing something about _‘discowing’_ and _‘forgot it was this horrible, oh my god.’_

Nightwing’s costume is _not_ horrible. It’s stylish and awesome. Just like his ponytail. Which is _not_ a mullet, no matter what needlessly hurtful words the younger man chooses to use to describe it.

Red Robin stops typing and turns his head to just stare at him. Those judgemental blue eyes rake his form, starting with the snazzy powder blue boots and then traveling slowly up the skintight material molded over his thighs and hips. Red’s eyes narrow as his gaze reaches the stylish v-shaped belt and then trails up the powder blue accents to the steep v-neckline. It pauses there, growing increasingly judgemental—if that’s even possible—and then rises slightly farther to rest accusingly on the much maligned but actually extremely hip popped collar.

The younger man inhales, opening his mouth, and Nightwing braces himself. _Bring it on._

“Seriously, Nightwing, can you even turn your head while wearing that? And what’s the tactical advantage of a neckline that exposes your chest practically to your navel? You know, considering the scaly panties and _this_ monstrosity, I’d think you can’t design costumes at all, except I _know_ the next evolution of the Nightwing costume will actually be pretty awesome.”

 _It is pretty awesome,_ Nightwing agrees, thinking of the super-cool looking design he’d found in his alternate self’s file on the Legacy Drive. _Those fingerstripes especially, why didn’t I think of that before? Whatever, I know what my next costume’s going to look like. As soon as I have time to send it through production, I’m switching to that one. And maybe getting a haircut. But not because I have a mullet! Just ready for a change, that’s all._

“The tactical advantage is distraction and intimidation!” Nightwing protests. “And the Robin suit has a leotard, not panties.” He blinks, considering, then raises a speculative eyebrow as he looks the other teen up and down. “Well, I guess I don’t know what _your_ version looked like. Were panties part of the deal? I think you could probably pull that look off pretty well.” He winks, then grins. Red Robin blushes furiously and then bends his head back over his laptop, muttering something unintelligible about just checking to make sure the security feeds are looped.

He’s definitely already checked that. Twice. Nightwing’s grin widens. Tim’s damn cute when he’s flustered. Interesting.

“Anyway,” Red Robin says, then slides his laptop away before getting out of the van. He goes to the back and extracts a folding stretcher, a tarp, and a couple of shovels. Handing him one of the latter items, he then closes the vehicle. “I’m positive all of the monitors Batman has set up are going to be unresponsive for the next four hours. The feedback in the Cave is looped, and the alarms won’t go off as long as we get the package out during the allotted window.”

_Referring to Jason as the package seems kind of cold, but it makes this whole situation feel slightly more bearable, so I guess I can get behind that._

Anything to give him a little distance from the situation will definitely help. Nightwing shrugs agreeably and falls into step beside the other teen as they enter the cemetery through a small caretaker’s gate on the south side. It’s a good distance from the main entrance and far from any potential prying eyes. The gate opens without a sound, and he catches a smirk on Red Robin’s face. “You totally came out here and oiled that at some point, didn’t you?”

The other teen simply shrugs, entering the grounds and weaving quickly through the mist-shrouded plots. Trees, headstones, and the occasional weeping angel rise up out of the low-lying mist around them, reminding him of several horror movies he suddenly deeply regrets watching. He finds himself grateful that he isn’t alone here in the heavy silence, surrounded by darkness and the dead.

They finally reach Jason’s grave, distinguished by freshly planted sod a shade darker and thicker than the surrounding grass. The flowers from his funeral are still there, just beginning to show signs of wilting. Nightwing stares at it for a moment, his breath catching as he inhales.

Red Robin turns to look at him, reaching out a hand as though in concern. “Are you going to be okay? I can do this on my own if I have to, if you need to go back to the van. Technically, it’s the next part where I _really_ need your help.” He reaches for the shovel, looking fully willing to do this entire thing by himself just to spare Nightwing.

“No,” he manages after a moment, regaining control of his emotions. “That’s not necessary. I want to help. If there’s even a chance this could work, I need to be part of it.” Besides, there’s no way he’s leaving him to face this alone.

He brings the shovel down, cutting through the fresh sod to bite deep into the loose earth below. Too loose. The grave doesn’t seem to have been properly compacted, which actually goes a long way to explaining how Jason might manage to dig himself out. Nightwing firmly pushes away that line of thought. Not important right now.

They peel back the sod in strips so it will be easy to rearrange afterward to avoid suspicion. Then they take turns digging, a grim, grueling task marked only by the silence surrounding them and the scraping sounds of the shovel blades cutting into the soil. The clouds part sufficiently to allow the moon to peek dimly through, giving them a little more light as they work. Low-lying fog still shrouds the graveyard around them. Neither of them seems to be up for any banter.

Even less so once they finally hit the coffin. They spend some extra time digging the grave wider around it so they’ll actually be able to open the lid without needing to use a crane to exhume the entire contents of the grave. “He managed to break his way out of this with his bare hands?” Nightwing whispers, throat tightening as he imagines it. He crouches on the thin ledge of soil they’ve excavated around the side of the coffin, running his gauntleted hand over the thick mahogany lid. It seems impossibly sturdy. “How?”

Red Robin, perching on the lip of the grave and peering down at him, shrugs, looking uneasy. “He doesn’t talk about it much, for obvious reasons. But once, he mentioned using his belt buckle…” He trails off, sounding deeply uncomfortable.

_Oh, god. Oh Jason, little brother, no._

“That’s not happening here,” Nightwing says with a forceful tug on the lid, which gives way easily, already loosened by tools from their utility belts. It opens with a soft sigh. Fighting the lingering sense that what they’re doing is _wrong,_ profane somehow to disturb Jason’s rest, he gazes into the hallowed space within.

In the shadowed darkness, the moonlight falls on Jason’s peaceful face. It looks like he’s just lying there asleep in his best suit. Nightwing half expects the boy to wake up, tug at the tight collar, and start complaining about being buried in a damn monkey suit. It hits him that the last time he saw Jason, the boy was alive and laughing with him over rooftop pizza, grinning and cracking jokes. He’s never seen him so _still._ He seems smaller, like this. “Oh god,” he chokes out, unexpected tears causing his vision to blur. “Oh my god.”

“Shit—” And then Red Robin lands in the grave beside him, arms slipping around his waist and holding him tightly as he shakes. He responds instinctively, wrapping himself around the shorter teen and clinging to him while he fights down the grief, fury and sadness at his brother’s murder. The fact that apparently fate planned something even _worse_ and death wasn’t the peaceful rest they’d all expected just makes everything that much more horrible. “I’m sorry, ‘Wing, this was a bad idea, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” he manages after a long moment indulging in the comfort of the hug—human contact, and how long has it been since he’s had that? The last time he was touched by someone before Tim couldn’t be Bruce’s knuckles on his cheek, when he tracked the man down to confront him at the Manor, could it? Yeah, best not to think about that right now. “Let’s get this done.” He reaches up to the edge of the grave, hands closing on the tarp and assembled stretcher.

What follows is grisly, but it’ll all be worth it later if his brother wakes up. Refilling the grave is frustrating because they need to compact the soil as they go, and then carefully rearrange the sod at the surface. At least the original poor compaction job means they aren’t left with a pile of extra soil to get rid of. And the sprinklers should come on in the morning and further disguise any signs of disturbance.

Trudging back to the van while gingerly carrying both the shovels and his end of their sad, tarp-wrapped burden, he frowns. “Wait, you said earlier you could probably have done this without me, in a pinch. You didn’t need any help with the Batcomputer or the alarms. Did you— _Tim._ Did you involve me in this mostly so I could do the bulk of the digging and act as your pack mule?” Indignation rises only to subside as he realizes no, Red Robin probably had multiple reasons for involving him when he did. The teen could probably give Batman a run for his money when it comes to overthinking plans.

In front of him, laden only with his own end of the stretcher, Red Robin studiously avoids turning to meet his eyes. “Maybe? Theoretically, how mad would you be if I said yes?”

Seriously? But honestly, Nightwing is grateful the younger man looped him in when he did, if only so he could be a part of this from the start. If there’s a chance Jason might come back to them, he wants to do everything in his power to help. And Red probably already thought of all that, anyway, and factored it into his decisions. So Nightwing’s not actually mad at all. “Furious,” he answers in a very serious sounding voice.

“Really?” Red Robin sounds slightly distressed, turning his head to look at him as they walk. He scans Nightwing’s face and posture for a moment before snorting and relaxing, shaking his head as he faces forward again. “You jerk, you made me think you meant it. Anyway, it _was_ a lot easier with two of us. There was only a sixty-two percent chance I’d be able to do it within the allotted window without your assistance, which was unacceptable. And I really do need your help for the next part.”

“Oh yeah?” Nightwing knows better than to commit to anything else without nailing down the details first. They reach the van and carefully lay their precious burden down in the back. “And what might that be?”

Red Robin stares into the back of the van for a long moment of silent reverie before he slams the door and heads to the front. “Keeping watch. One of us should be in the apartment at all times, if we can manage it.”

Wait, stay at Tim’s apartment? He’d agreed to keep Jason there, considering his own apartment is too well-known and monitored to hide him. He had not planned to spend much time there himself. There are so many responsibilities he should be getting back to; he doesn’t have time to just hang around.

A protest rises on Nightwing’s lips—he’s busy, and the break from the Titans was only meant to be temporary—but it dies on his lips as Red Robin quietly continues. “I don’t want Jason to wake up alone.”

And when he puts it like that…

“Yeah, okay.” Dick nods, determined. “We can make it work.” He can extend his leave. This is worth it.

* * *

The custom, glass-topped mortuary freezer hums softly from its position in the center of Jason’s room. The temperature is set to cool enough to preserve him and warm enough that it shouldn’t interfere with his awakening when the time comes. If the time comes. There’s always the possibility that by disturbing Jason’s body, he’s somehow upset whatever unknown concatenation of circumstances resulted in his resurrection the first time around. If so…

Tim pushes that thought from his mind, shivering. After all, there’s nothing he can do about it now anyway. All he can do now is wait.

Jason is wearing the softest sweatpants, shirt, and fuzzy socks they could find. He lies nestled snugly between Wonder Woman-themed flannel sheets, with a thick quilt tucked in on top. His head rests on a fluffy pillow, and he looks like he could be sleeping. He seems so painfully _young._ Nothing like the Red Hood Tim remembers, the broken, brutalized man who lashed out at him so many times in his pain.

_I couldn’t save him from all of it, but maybe this will be enough. Help shield him from the worst of it. From the Pit. Patch things up with the family a little sooner, and keep little me out of it entirely. Timmy can grow up with parents, and without scars. I want to see what he can become, given a chance._

There are bookshelves set up along the walls, empty except for a few classics Tim remembers Alfred mentioning years ago as being some of Jason’s favorites. Otherwise, the room is bare.

They should fix that. He’s already done a lot to make sure Jason will awaken in the least physically and mentally traumatic manner possible this time. The mortuary freezer opens from the inside at a touch, and is equipped with sensors that will detect a heartbeat and initialize warming procedures while sending an alert to both him and Dick. But he can’t help trying to figure out ways to make it better. Maybe he should put a cell phone in there, pre-programmed with their numbers? Or a note? Something to make it completely clear from the moment Jason opens his eyes that he’s no longer in the Joker’s power.

That he’s safe.

“Pizza’s here,” Dick’s voice draws his attention to the doorway where the older teen is standing, eyeing him knowingly while taking a huge bite of his own slice. “C’mon, you could use a break after all this. Besides, I’ve got something to show you.”

Well, it has been a grueling night—morning? It might actually be past dawn now. Whatever, he doesn’t regret chasing Dick out once they got Jason into the room. This is his little brother; he doesn’t need to be the one to handle his body while getting him comfortably set up in his new, hopefully temporary environment. Much better for Tim to take care of it, even if he feels strangely wrung out now, with a lingering sense of sorrow.

_He was just fifteen. A kid. And he went through so much, all alone._

Reluctantly—it feels wrong to walk away from Jason, even though he knows all they can do at this point is wait and hope—he follows Dick, who leads him to the couch. Several large pizza boxes are stacked on the coffee table and the news is playing softly in the background. He reaches for a slice, making a happy little noise when he realizes it’s his favorite; Canadian bacon, onion, and artichoke hearts. Dick smirks, clearly having remembered that minor detail from yesterday when they’d ordered pizza while going over the plans to circumvent Batman’s monitors and steal Jason. Tim sits down on the couch next to the other teen, who hands him a soda before turning up the volume, gesturing for him to look at the screen.

“And in other news, a holdup at Gotham Community Bank earlier tonight was the scene of a daring rescue by Batman and Robin. We have rare footage of the pair, seen here preventing the alleged perpetrators from escaping after the hostages were freed—”

Tim stares, pizza dangling forgotten in his hand. He recognizes the small form swinging after Batman as the dynamic duo flee into the night. But Timmy wasn’t supposed to be Robin, not in this universe. Certainly not _yet._ He’d done everything he could to prevent that so that Jason would never have reason to believe he’d been replaced.

“Is that kid _you?”_ Dick asks, looking curious and pensive.

“Well, yes. At least, the younger version of me from this universe.” Tim frowns. “I really thought planting all those fake clues in your apartment for him to find would lead him on a harmless wild goose chase. Using those, looking for you should’ve kept him busy for another month, at least.”

Dick raises a brow. “I’ve only known you for about two days, and even I know that if something isn’t going the way you want, you tend to find or create a way around it. Are you really that surprised he didn’t let you sidetrack him?”

“Point.” Tim blinks. “Guess I should’ve allowed more for the stubborn single mindedness I had at that age.”

Dick snorts. “Right. At that age. Because you’re obviously so different now.”

Rolling his eyes but otherwise ignoring the interjection, Tim continues, “Timmy must have decided to go straight to Bruce when he couldn’t easily track you down. I think not being able to find you may have actually sped him up a little, for whatever reason. And instead of making him jump through all the hoops I did, B just gave him the suit? That doesn’t seem right. I had to save you guys from Two Face before he’d even consider training me, and then worked hard for months before he gave me the suit.”

Dick leans back, sprawling his arms across the back of the couch and tapping his heel on the floor as he considers. “Maybe it’s _because_ I wasn’t there,” he offers eventually, face falling into lines of sadness. “He and I are on the outs, so having me around when you were introduced in your universe probably didn’t help your case.” His left arm drops around Tim’s shoulders in what’s almost certainly an unconscious movement and his hand begins absently rubbing slowly up and down Tim’s arm. Then he frowns, hand tightening slightly. “Wait, didn’t you wear the Robin suit when you showed up to save us from Two Face?”

Tim nods, pieces falling into place in his mind as he tries to ignore the heat of Dick’s arm around him. Dick’s a tactile person; it doesn’t mean anything. “Yeah, Alfred helped me with it once he realized you two were in real danger. We were afraid you wouldn’t make it without our assistance.” He blinks. “You think the same thing happened again, just under slightly different circumstances?” It’s possible. After all, the information from the Legacy Drive has already changed this timeline enough that Two Face is incarcerated right now, so the same events couldn’t have played out. Still, new threats are constantly arising in Gotham. He should’ve realized something might come up to seriously endanger Batman even though the dangers he’d known about from his own timeline were mitigated.

“Look,” Dick jerks his head toward the screen where the news anchor is still describing the action. The number of gangsters the police are leading out of the bank is staggering. “Did Batman look injured to you?”

Thinking back to the quick glimpse they’d had of the dark knight swinging away from the scene, he nods. “He was only using his left arm to hold the grapnel, not to mention he was favoring his ribs and the suit looked compromised in multiple locations.”

“You told me that in your universe he started pushing too hard, taking it too far and not resting enough or allowing his body to heal. Maybe he did the same thing here, Timmy went straight to him after he ran into a dead end looking for me, and Alfred ended up having to send in the kid to get him out of there before he got himself killed by a bunch of low-level thugs.” Dick looks torn, and Tim realizes he probably desperately wants to get to the Cave to check on his estranged mentor.

“Go,” he tells him. “Now that Timmy’s in the picture, he could probably really benefit from having you around. Bruce was pretty tough on me in training, trying to drive me away. It didn’t work, obviously, but… What I’m trying to say is, that kid could really use a friend right now.”

Dick looks concerned, eyeing him inquisitively before nodding. He straightens, seemingly only now noticing his arm around Tim’s shoulders. Giving him a comforting squeeze and a smile, he then stands and begins moving toward the hall. “Yeah, okay. I need to clear the air with B anyway. Don’t worry, we’ll keep it civil in front of the kid.” With one last quick smile, he slips away to change into the Nightwing suit. Tim glances down at the remaining pizza, and sighs.

 _Cereal for dinner and pizza for breakfast. Our habits are atrocious. Alfred would_ not _approve. Maybe I should put in an order for groceries?_

Actually, that’s not a bad idea. There’s plenty of easy prep or no prep healthy food available—and considering how helpless both he and Dick are in the kitchen, they’ll need it. He wouldn’t bother if it was just for himself, but… He takes another bite of his now cold pizza and then reaches for his laptop. Dick deserves to have someone taking care of him, at least a little. Plus, Tim has some other items he’s been meaning to get. Now’s as good a time as any.

_I wonder if Jason would appreciate the joke if I got a bunch of fake flowers and woodland animals and set them up all over his glass coffin like Snow White?_

He smirks. _Well, guess we’ll find out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick, gravedigging:** *Keeps getting poked in the eye by discowing popped collar* “This is significantly more difficult than I expected”  
>  **Tim, dodging Dick’s mullet:** “Agreed!” *Eyes mullet distrustfully, plans to cut it off when Dick’s not paying attention*  
> *  
>  **Tim, eating pizza and relaxing with Dick, feet up on Jason’s Snow White-style glass coffin which they’re using as a coffee table:** “Thank goodness all that’s over with. Now I can relax and maybe help divert little me so he never tries to become Ro—” *Watches news program in shock as tiny Tim zips by in Robin costume* “Dammit!”  
>  **Dick, sighing and pulling on Discowing again:** “No worries, bud, I got this” *Pauses, feels hair* “Wait, where’s my mullet?”


	4. Chapter 4

As his motorcycle flies through the empty streets, the sky overhead gradually lightening with the dawn, Nightwing tries to force his tired mind to focus on the coming confrontation. It better not go like the last time he showed up at the Cave to talk. For one thing, Timmy’s only twelve. According to Tim, the kid practically idolizes them all. They can’t let him down. For another, Bruce made him leave his key with Alfred when he kicked him out last time. He’s going to have to ask the old butler to let him in, which means Alfred will bear witness to everything that follows.

Even in his grief-stricken, angry state, Bruce will be unlikely to try to hit him in front of Alfred.

Unbidden, harsh words from the last time he drove these roads play through his mind. His own voice, _“Are_ you _blaming_ me? _I left, so Jason replaced me, and because I left he died? No way, pal… Jason wasn’t me. I was a trained acrobat. I could think quickly in perilous situations. But why did you let_ him _become Robin before he was ready?!”_ Cruel words. Not untrue, but spoken in pain and anger, lashing out.

And Bruce’s response. Enraged, agonized, hurting and dangerous. _“Don’t you dare blame me for Jason’s death! Don’t you dare!”_

His cheek stings with the remembered impact of Batman’s gauntlet throwing him off his feet. Eyes burning, he remembers the words that followed, Batman looming over him where he’d fallen to the ground with the force of the blow. Hearing his own mistake in not welcoming Jason immediately—thrown back in his face, with no mention of how he’d realized his error later and accepted the boy, learned to be a brother to him. Loved him, and lost him too.

And then Bruce had told him he regretted ever having a partner in the first place. Regretted _him_. The look on his face when he told him to get out, and obviously meant it. Devastatingly cold, and empty.

_I’m really not sure how this is going to go, but there’s a child involved now. Two of them, once Jason wakes up. I need to break through the defenses Bruce is building to protect himself, if only so no one else gets hurt trying to reach him._

If anyone’s going to be taking harsh blows to help B process his fury and grief, he’d infinitely rather it be him and not a kid.

To Dick’s surprise, the entrance to the Cave opens when he approaches. _Thanks, Alfred._ He drives in and parks, eyeing the scene warily in case his welcome is less than warm. No one’s there to greet him, so he figures he’s probably fine to go in. The sound of voices draws him to the main Cave, where he spots the others gathered by the Batcomputer. Batman is typing away, ignoring Alfred who has just placed a tray down at his side. Unexpectedly, Timmy’s still there, although he’s changed into civilian clothing and seems to be on the verge of leaving. The boy appears subdued and it’s difficult to tell if something happened, or if he’s just tired.

Dick approaches, walking past the spot where Bruce laid him out on the Cave floor last time. He barely manages to suppress the instinctive hitch in his step as he notices. Now is not the time to think about anything but what’s about to happen. There’s too much at stake. He puts on an easy, approachable grin. “So B, I see you’ve picked up a new Robin. Seems eager, at least, but shouldn’t he be in bed by now?”

There. Not angry or accusing, no mention of anything particularly inflammatory. Now, hopefully Bruce will pick up that he’s not here looking for a fight.

_I hope he doesn’t try to throw me out again. He can only fire me from his life so many times, right? If this pattern keeps up, a guy might start to feel a little rejected._

Batman’s fingers still briefly, the only sign he’s listening. He resumes typing a moment later, not deigning to look up. After a long pause, Alfred clears his throat. “Ah, Master Dick. It is good to see you,” he says warmly, the welcoming sparkle in his kindly old eyes expressing his delight. “I wonder, however, if you would be willing to drive young Master Timothy, here, home. I was on the verge of doing so myself, but it would be most helpful if you were willing to volunteer your services.”

Dick inhales, ready to demur—he and Bruce desperately need to talk to each other and work through some things—but one speaking look from Alfred has him nodding agreement almost automatically.

He’s got a hand on Timmy’s shoulder and is ushering him over to his motorcycle before he’s really processed what just happened. Glancing back, he sees the old man leaning over Bruce, who has his head in his hands. It’s too far for him to decipher the man’s gently remonstrating murmurs. Right before he turns away, he sees Bruce release a shuddering sigh before slowly nodding, shoulders slumped.

Seeing him like that, so visibly weary and broken, goes a long way to cool what’s left of Dick’s ire. Mostly, he just wants things to be okay between them again.

_Well, I guess Alfred’s working on him already. Maybe it’s better to wait to really talk to Bruce until Alfred’s had a chance to work his magic. And anyway, I came here to take care of Timmy and help make sure he’s treated well throughout all this. Might as well get started on that._

He looks at the boy at his side, taking him in more fully than the quick glance he afforded him when he arrived. And then he does a double take, because Timmy is _tiny._ He’d expected him to be on the small side, considering Tim’s nearly a head shorter than Dick at almost eighteen. But this…

The twelve year old is _really_ small for his age. But those bright, inquisitive blue eyes that seem to see too much are all Tim. And huh, he isn’t acting so subdued anymore now that they’re away from Batman.

“Wow, are we going to ride _that?”_ The kid is grinning with excitement as he takes in Nightwing’s admittedly awesome ride.

He grins back, tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying melting away. “Yep! Here, put this on.” He hands the boy his spare helmet before putting on his own. The biking leathers follow, although he has to bite his lip to keep from bursting into laughter at the sight of the miniature teen in his large jacket. If Timmy’s anything like Tim, he’ll take offense to being laughed at. Anyway, he still has some questions. “So, you’re Robin now? How did _that_ happen?”

Timmy, about to clamber onto the motorcycle behind him, freezes, biting his lip. “Well, I’m not? I mean, I put the costume on tonight to help, but Batman already told me he didn’t need a Robin.” He looks downcast for a moment, then brightens, delicate face lighting up as though a wonderful idea just occurred to him. “Hey wait, that doesn’t matter now, anyway! You’re back from Siberia—”

_What the heck, Tim? You gave the poor kid clues that led him to believe I was in Siberia? What if he’d tried to follow me there? That was very irresponsible of you! We might’ve had to fly to Siberia to chase him down, because knowing you I’m sure he’d have found a way to actually get there if he’d really wanted to._

“—and now you can be Robin again!” Timmy’s looking at him triumphantly, clearly convinced he’s solved everything. It’s almost painful to disillusion him, but…

“Ah, Timmy, I can’t go back to being Robin. Just as I can’t go back to being thirteen again.” Nightwing turns, not wanting to face the boy’s disappointment. “Now, where to?”

The ride is short and the roar of the bike precludes further conversation. Besides, the kid is clearly dead on his feet. As he dismounts, still downcast and visibly worried, Nightwing stays him with a hand on his small wrist. “Look…” He hesitates. From what Tim has told him, and his own personal experience, being replaced as Robin is a horrible feeling. He doesn’t want that for Jason.

But Timmy’s right, too, in that Batman needs a Robin. The man’s falling apart, and Jason’s not back yet. Might never be back, painful as it is to admit their plans might fail. And honestly, what Bruce said during their fight about how he probably would have had to fire Jason in a few years still holds true. Even if and when Jason wakes up, the chances of him thriving as Robin again are low.

“You do it,” Nightwing says spontaneously. “I’ll help train you, teach you how to deal with Bruce and everything. But you’re the right person for this, I can tell.” It maybe helps a bit that he’s seen proof of how incredibly well this kid will succeed. Otherwise, he might hesitate to give his blessing to such a tiny, sweet kid joining the fight. But he has reason to know exactly how tough this kid grows up to be.

Timmy’s eyes are huge, brimming with emotion. “Really?” he breathes, incredulous.

Nightwing smiles. “Yes,” he says, and then shoos the boy toward the dark, silent mansion looming in the mist. “Now get inside before your parents wake up and realize you aren’t in bed yet!”

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Timmy replies. Nightwing doesn’t have time to puzzle over that, because the boy quickly hands him back the spare helmet and jacket. “It was really nice meeting you and I think you’re really amazing!” Blushing, he ducks his head and scurries away after blurting out his admiration.

 _Aww,_ Nightwing thinks, a grin slowly growing on his face as he watches to make sure the boy makes it safely to his house. _What a cute, awkward kid._

Shaking his head, he gets back on his bike, mind turning to another Tim, one he can’t help but think of as a different person from the child he just met. There’s a whole world of experience separating the two. As he drives back across town, the knowledge that there’s someone waiting for him at home sparks a bit of warmth in his heart. It doesn’t hurt that Tim’s very easy on the eyes, either.

Of course, there’s no reason to think anything will come of it, but that doesn’t stop the faint thrill or stirring of interest. Well, it’s harmless. And he’s still going to troll him about how awkward and adorable he was as a child, especially his hero worship for Nightwing. That’s just too cute to pass up.

All thoughts of teasing slip from his mind when he gets home and finds Tim sound asleep on the couch. He’s slumped in the corner with his laptop tilted against his thigh. Dick rescues it, glancing at the screen and feeling inexplicably warmed when he sees the grocery order there. Amidst a list of healthy, nourishing staples that would do Alfred proud, he’s touched to see Crocky Crunch, ho hos, and numerous other particular favorites of his.

_If I still had any doubts that he knows me really well, this would probably settle them. I wish I knew what he liked. Huh, that’s an awful lot of coffee. And who needs that many bags of marshmallows? Also, that’s a heck of a lot of peanut butter._

Well, maybe he does have some idea of what Tim likes. Smiling, he taps on the other open tab and then frowns, puzzled. Why would he be buying— _oh. Ha. That’s great._

Grinning, Dick sits down and adds a few more choice items to the cart before placing both orders. Task complete, he powers down the laptop and then gently scoops Tim up in his arms. The younger man is so exhausted, he barely stirs except to nestle deeper into his embrace. Dick can’t help but notice once again how perfectly he fits in his arms.

He carries him down the hall to his room and then lays him down gently on the bed, intending to make his way back out and sleep on the couch. But then Tim lets out a soft little whimper, as though he’s cold or afraid, and Dick is lifting back the covers and lying down next to him before he knows it.

 _Just for a few minutes,_ he reasons. _I’ll just stay for a little while, until he settles down again._

Smiling, he allows his eyes to drift closed. The last thing he feels before he falls asleep is Tim cuddling up to his side. Warm, comfortable, and with a growing sense of safety and relaxation, it’s a slippery slope to slumber and then he is _out._

* * *

Tim wakes up with his face pressed to Dick’s chest, the other man’s muscular arms wrapped around him, and sighs happily. Sharing the bed really does make more sense than taking turns on the couch. And since he first awakened in Dick’s arms a week ago, he’s been getting what feels like the best sleep of his life.

He resolutely avoids thinking about the still empty third bedroom he’d planned to furnish for Dick’s use. As long as the other man doesn’t say anything about it or show signs of disliking their arrangement, he’s perfectly happy with the status quo. And considering the way the larger man’s arms tighten around him and tug him closer when he tentatively tries to slip out of bed, Dick has no objections. He’s probably just enjoying all the extra cuddling, to be honest.

Tim carefully avoids thinking about how much he’s secretly enjoying the cuddles, too. Of course, he knows exactly how to escape when necessary. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll tickle you,” he whispers from where his face is still pressed against Dick’s really unfairly muscular chest.

“Worth it,” the other man rumbles, eyes still closed and voice rough with sleep.

_That’s cute, but I’m still gonna tickle you._

“You asked for it.” He trails his fingertips softly from where they rest on Dick’s broad shoulder down along his ribs. A smile of anticipation stretches his face as he feels the other teen’s stomach muscles tense, probably resisting the urge to laugh. Tim continues his torturous ministrations, trailing his fingers maddeningly over his skin in all the sensitive ticklish spots he can reach while Dick gradually tenses until he’s practically vibrating with suppressed laughter.

Tim’s stroking his fingers feather-light along Dick’s bellybutton when the other teen breaks, abs rippling beneath his touch as helpless laughter fills the room.

Grinning, Dick finally releases his death grip and then hits him with his pillow. “Just go, you monster. It’s completely unfair that you already know exactly where my weak spots are.”

Snickering as he rises, Tim shrugs. “Like I said, you totally asked for it.” He strides over to the ensuite, careful as usual not to reveal the embarrassing morning situation happening in his boxers.

_Waking up cuddling with Dick is amazing. I just wish my body didn’t agree quite so enthusiastically. It’s getting harder—heh, harder—to hide this from him every morning._

After taking care of himself in the shower, Tim makes his way back out, noting the bed’s empty state, tousled comforters piled haphazardly because neither of them is any good at remembering things like making the bed. He stretches, feeling pleasantly warm and relaxed, then pulls on fresh boxers and one of Dick’s shirts that looks relatively clean before making his way out to the kitchen.

Dick’s freshly showered as well, clearly having used the hall bathroom to get ready. And of course he’s only wearing a pair of snug, black boxer briefs. He glances up with a smile and hands Tim a fresh mug of hot coffee with just a splash of cream.

_Mmm, delicious life-bringing coffee._

Tim sips his coffee, cradling the mug in his hands as Dick gently nudges him into a chair with a bump of his hip. “Here you go,” he says, setting a bowl of cereal in front of him. Tim’s vaguely aware of the other teen humming happily as he settles into the chair next to him, close enough for their arms to brush against each other as they move. He’s painfully aware of how utterly gorgeous Dick is, all that golden olive skin, sculpted muscles, and handsome face only packaging for the unbelievably brave, resilient, charismatic and impossibly good person inside.

“Mmmph,” Tim says, then takes another long drink of coffee. He can feel his brain booting up a little more with each sip.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Dick replies, absently twisting his wrist to capture Tim’s hand on the table. Dick’s hand is warm and strong and covers his completely, almost protectively. It feels really nice. He’s still not firing on all cylinders, which, he tells himself, is why he doesn’t tease the other teen about holding his hand or accidentally using a pet name.

This kind of thing has been happening a lot over the past few days as they’ve settled into a kind of routine together. While Tim knows perfectly well it’s just Dick’s tactile and affectionate nature, that doesn’t help mitigate his own reactions. Dick’s an incredibly attractive guy, okay? And the little crush Tim was so sure he’d left behind years ago, when he actually got to know Dick Grayson—who had treated him like a younger brother complete with nougies, awful trolling, and every other annoying action seemingly designed to make it impossible to view the older man as a sexual being… Well, it seems to have been reactivated by proximity to all this hot young Dick. It certainly doesn’t help that this Dick is in no way acting _brotherly_ toward him, treating him more like a close partner than anything else. They’ve fallen into a comfortable, intimate routine of living and working together already, after the excitement of getting Jason somewhere safe—Tim’s been helping Dick with his cases, mostly. With his information, they were able to stop the man behind the series of accidents that had caused Haly’s Circus to lose money. Of course, Dick went ahead and invested some money to save the circus, too. He’s awesome like that.

Well, maybe he should just tease Dick back a little, if only to bring it to his attention when he’s being a little friendlier than he probably intends. Tim clears his throat. “Pass the cereal, darling?” He flutters his eyelashes and considers winking. No, that would be too much. Maybe save that for if the other teen ups the ante.

Instead of backing off or reacting in any way to the endearment, Dick just uses his free hand to snag the cereal box and then tops off both their bowls. “Here you go, honeysuckle.”

_What the heck?_

Tim blinks, then eyes the other teen suspiciously. Dick meets his gaze with a too-innocent to be believable smile. _Oh, it’s on._ He smiles back, possibly showing too many teeth, judging by the way Dick just flinched minutely. “Thanks, sugarlips.”

_Ugh, that was atrocious. But whatever this is that’s happening right now, I’m not gonna be the one to blink first._

At the endearment, Dick’s eyes widen, and then he grins. “You’re welcome, babycakes.” Still grinning, he lifts their still-joined hands to press a kiss to Tim’s knuckles. The look in his dancing, dark blue eyes as he does so is positively wicked.

Swallowing, Tim begins to wonder if he might be in over his head. A moment later, he feels something nudge against his foot under the table. Before he can react, he finds his ankle trapped cozily between what can only be Dick’s lower legs. The man at his side edges slightly closer and hums happily, using his free hand to continue consuming what appears to be his own body weight in cereal.

He’s completely ridiculous, and Tim’s _definitely_ in over his head. Well, might as well go down fighting. “Monkey-butt.” He’s so ashamed of himself right now.

“Sugar-booger.” Dick’s staring at him now with that challenging glint in his eye that usually means he’s about to take on a supervillain, and _win._

Dick has no sense of shame, so Tim’s ashamed _for_ him. But not enough to stop. He raises an eyebrow. “Cuddle-bunny.”

“Schmoopsie-poo.” Dear god.

“Bubble-butt.” Wait, that one’s just an accurate description, not a cringe-worthy term of endearment. Oh well, it looks like Dick’s fighting laughter now, so apparently it worked anyway.

“Oh my god,” Dick finally breaks. “Wait, I had one more. Snugglekins-smoochiepoo-sweetpea-sparkles!”

Tim rolls his eyes, shoving Dick off and standing up. “Now you’re just word-vomiting and hoping something sticks. And on that note, I’m going to get to work, because if I stay here any longer participating in this I’m going to be sick.” He begins to make his way over to the living room, where he can set up his laptop and continue to analyze ongoing cases.

Things have been working out pretty well, with him taking on an Oracle-like role here while Nightwing handles the fieldwork. Gotham is already seeing the benefit, and it doesn’t hurt to be able to keep an eye from afar on Batman, as well. The new Robin is still being trained, so he shouldn’t be out on the streets again for a while.

“Fine, fine.” Dick rises gracefully to his feet as well and moves to follow him. “I might head out to check in on the Titans for a few hours—” He breaks off as a soft chime draws his attention to his phone, charging on the desk. “Oh, it’s Timmy,” he says, reading the message. “He needs… food?” He frowns, clearly puzzled by the request.

Tim blinks, trying to remember what— _oh._ “Uh, could you maybe pick him up a load of groceries? This is probably around the time Mother and Father were on a business trip to Brazil for four months or so, followed by another trip to Japan for the holidays without returning to Gotham in between. So the pantry ran a little low, and I was pretty reliant on the housekeeper bringing meals by twice a day during the week.” His brow furrows. “Actually, I’m pretty sure this is when Mrs. Mac got the flu, and couldn’t come over for a couple of weeks straight. The first time around, I just ate things I thought no one would notice as missing from what was left in the pantry.” He shrugs with a rueful smile as he explains, “Timmy must’ve gotten tired of peanut butter.”

He finally glances over at Dick, and recoils slightly at the unexpected expression of fury on the man’s face. “Timmy’s parents are out of town for months on end, and he’s run out of _food?”_ Dick sounds horrified. “He’s neglected, and you’re just telling me about this _now?”_

“Wait, _what?_ ” Tim’s eyebrows feel like they’re climbing to his hairline. “He’s not… It wasn’t like that, not really.”

Dick’s expression and voice are so gentle as he replies. “Babe, it really sounds like it _was_ like that. I mean, what would you think if this was some other kid whose circumstances we learned about during a case? Left alone for months on end, without enough food…?”

Tim bites his lip, feeling oddly exposed. “It’s just... This was always the status quo for me. I wasn’t given a room at the Manor until after my mother’s death. Um, about a year after I started training as Robin. Up till then I lived at home.”

“I don’t understand how that could be. Why wouldn’t Batman, or I, have done something about it?” Dick looks stricken.

“Batman didn’t want anyone to find out I was Robin, so I had to be home at night in case my parents called or showed up unexpectedly. And you… Well, Nightwing was around sometimes to train me or run missions, but not all the time. I don’t think he ever realized. And anyway, I didn’t _want_ him to. I never wanted to interfere with the Mission.”

“That’s awful, sweetheart. And I hope you realize how screwed up that reasoning is.”

Tim doesn’t really know how to handle this. “It was fine? It really was. It’s not like B even wanted me to be Robin in the first place. I was…. It was _fine._ ” Tim’s voice trails off. Dick is still just staring at him.

“Okay,” he says after a long moment. “I am about to buy the _hell_ out of those groceries. Then I’m going to take Timmy over to the Manor, because there’s no way _anyone_ would be okay with leaving him alone in that house for another night, let alone however long it’s going to take for his parents to get back.” He shakes his head swiftly to cut off Tim’s rising protest, then continues, face set and determined. “And when I get home, we are going to take the day off and watch movies, eat junk food, and cuddle until I can stop seeing an empty house when I look at you.”

Tim blinks. “Ah. And…” He swallows. “How long do you expect that to take?”

Dick smirks. “Guess we’ll both find out, cutie-bootie!”

Ugh. This is a war of attrition, and there will be no winners.

He sighs. _“Fine,_ honeypie.” A little smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Get him a few bags of marshmallows, okay?”

Dick brushes a kiss against his forehead before turning, presumably to get properly dressed so he can go out. “I’ll take that as a request to get a few bags for you, too, lovebug.”

Well, it’s not what he’d planned for the day, but he’ll take it. “Sounds good, sweetmeat.” He barely manages to stifle a snort of laughter at that one, and the sound of Dick’s laughter from the other room brings a grin to his face. He moves over to the computer, hoping to sneak in an hour of work before the other man gets back. Maybe he can at least push for a sci-fi marathon instead of the romcoms Dick adores. He shakes his head, still smiling. “Sounds good.”

It really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick, dropping Timmy off at Drake Manor:** “Seeya, kiddo!”  
>  **Timmy, not even trying to hide massive puppy crush:** “You’re so COOL” *Blushes, flees*  
>  **Dick, oblivious:** “D’aww that kid’s so adorkable”  
> *  
>  **Tim, waking up in Dick’s arms:** “We’re definitely only sharing a bed for convenience” *Walks out wearing Dick’s clothes* “Seriously, this means nothing”  
>  **Dick, kissing Tim good morning and handing him coffee:** “Yes, everything about this is perfectly platonic. Cuddles later?”  
>  **Tim:** “You bet your fine ass we’re cuddling later” *Drinks his coffee, reflects on the beauty that is life*  
> *  
> Note: quotes adapted from New Teen Titans Vol 2 #55, Batman #441


	5. Chapter 5

Jason wakes up all at once and experiences a moment of complete disorientation. Did he pass out? Wait, _shit,_ he has to get the door unlocked, drag himself away before the Joker comes back to finish him off, only…

Somehow, he has a horrible feeling it’s already too late.

Holding perfectly still, he works to take stock of his current situation while forcing himself to try to remember whatever happened. Did Joker come back? Or maybe he just passed out on the warehouse floor? He doesn’t feel like he’s gotten the shit beaten out of him with a crowbar, but that’s probably just shock and blood loss setting in. Maybe that’s why he’s hallucinating the feeling of soft blankets instead of the ice-cold concrete, tacky with blood, which must be what’s actually beneath him.

But there’s something just on the edge of his recollection… Jason gasps in a breath, eyes finally snapping open. “Oh _fuck,”_ he chokes out. “The goddamn _bomb.”_ He remembers now, even though he wishes he didn’t. Turning at the locked door, only to see a bomb, seconds left and ticking down to zero before his horrified gaze. The hopeless resignation of those final moments as he truly realized no one was coming to save him.

“Oh my god.” He sucks in a stuttering breath, gaze darting around. He’s not even sure what he expects to see. He sure as hell isn’t fit for the pearly gates, and the last thing he needs is an eternity of some cackling dickhead stabbing him in the ass with a flaming pitchfork or whatever. All the descriptions he’s read about life after death sound like bunk, anyway.

And…

Well. Fucking _nothing_ he’s read, heard, or speculated about the afterlife described it as anything like _this._

Jason’s lying on something soft, surrounded by flannel sheets in Wonder Woman’s colors. He can feel that whatever he’s wearing is made of some of that stupidly soft material he’ll never admit out loud is his favorite damn thing. The pillow under his head is plush and bouncy and he kinda wants to go back to sleep, only first he’s got to figure out what the fuck is going on.

He’s in a fucking box, which is kind of freaky, but he can see out through the glass top and sides. Maybe it’s some kind of hyperbaric chamber for medical treatment? If he was actually rescued _after_ the explosion, it would make sense he’d need special care. And maybe that’s why he’s not hurting now. Either he’s mostly healed, or drugged the fuck up. Hell, maybe it’s just that severely burned tissue has no feeling anymore.

A rush of warm air from some kind of internal vents in the box startles him, but the heat feels good. It’s only then he realizes how chilled he was when he woke.

 _Did B really manage to save me?_ A little spark of warmth and hope kindles in his heart, only to quench a moment later as he takes in more details of his surroundings. _But… Wherever this is, it ain’t the Cave, or my room at the Manor._

It looks like he’s in someone’s bedroom, posters of his favorite movies and heroes on the walls. There are several overloaded bookshelves he seriously wants to check out at some point, as long as this isn’t a kidnapping-type situation. He doesn’t really think it is, though, considering the fact that he just realized there’s a phone in his hand. Pressing the button to wake it up, he sees it’s fully charged, and numbers are programmed into it for both Dick and someone called Tim.

_Seems a little weird not to have B’s number in there. But whatever, maybe Dickie’s just the one on call right now. If I’ve been in a medically induced coma for a while or something, they’re probably taking it in turns to watch over me._

That feeling is growing inside him again, hope and burgeoning relief and a tremulous sense of safety he’d thought lost, along with everything else the Joker took from him. But it’s clear he’s being cared for, that somehow or another, his family managed to rescue him. He blinks back tears, stupidly happy at the thought.

That’s when he spots the note taped to the lid of the box. In what he’s almost positive is Dick’s ridiculously tidy, loopy writing, it reads, _‘We missed you, Little Wing! Welcome back!’_ Below that, in smaller, spikier letters, someone else has added the more useful footnote, ‘ _Please press the blue button so we can come help you.’_ Under that, more of Dick’s handwriting continues, _‘and HUG you!!!’_

Just for that, Jason seriously considers _not_ pressing the damn button. Stupid Dick and his damn octopus hugs. Unprompted, he remembers the last time he and his older brother hung out. There’d been a case, rooftop pizza, and then Nightwing’s warm, protective arm around his shoulders. He’d felt safe, cared for and loved and…

He doesn’t even realize he’s reached for the button until he feels himself pushing it. The lid lifts with a soft hiss, and he sits up. He’s relieved to find that while he feels a little stiff, nothing hurts, and the skin he can see looks intact.

_Damn, that’s some treatment. Guess this box is worth whatever they paid for it. Maybe alien tech? I don’t think normal medical treatment could’ve healed all the breaks this clean._

His musings are interrupted by the bedroom door flying open and then slamming against the wall. Two near-naked forms stumble into the room, bouncing off the doorframe and each other as they apparently attempt to shove their way in at the same time. Jason stares at them in shock.

_What the fuck?_

The bigger one is obviously Dick, stupidly muscular and looking like a damn underwear model in his idiotically tiny Superman boxer briefs. The dumbass lights the fuck up when he spots Jason sitting there in his open hyperbaric chamber or whatever. “Jay!”

Jason braces himself, knowing what to expect, but still bounces back slightly with the force of his embarrassment of a big brother literally diving across the room to hug him. He practically climbs into the box with him, the better to fully entrap him in his inexorable embrace. “You’re like a damn octopus, Dickie. Let a guy breathe, yeah?”

“You’re _breathing,”_ Dick whispers, sounding way too choked up over an involuntary, automatic bodily function.

And that… Huh. Kinda sounds like things were a little more serious than he’d thought. Jason looks up at the other guy, taking in his bright blue eyes, pale, scarred skin, slender form with perfectly cut musculature, snug red boxer briefs hugging his tight little ass…

Blushing, Jason yanks his gaze away from Dick’s cute boyfriend.

_Dickie’s such an asshole. How come he always manages to land such hotties? Everyone he’s ever dated is a damn walking wet dream._

Whatever, he’s got more important things to deal with right now. Like, how long has he been asleep? Unless this is a one night stand, and he _knows_ Dick isn’t into that, it must’ve been awhile for things to have progressed this far. Judging by those scars, this guy’s another vigilante, which makes sense. But the level of trust needed to have him around a vulnerable Jason means whatever’s between these two is _serious._

“Okay, you can keep hugging me if you want, but while you’re doing that I need you to tell me what the fuck’s going on. Also…” He finally looks down, and his brows fly up as he realizes the damn hyperbaric chamber is wreathed in fucking flowers, with little stuffed birds and bunnies and shit. “Did you assholes decorate me like the goddamn glass coffin in Snow White?”

Dick’s hot boyfriend clears his throat, looking slightly guilty. “Uh, maybe? Look, we used JLA merch to make the seven dwarves.”

He points to the other side of the box, and Jason turns to see Superman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Aquaman, the Green Lantern, and Cyborg assembled as though paying their respects. Batman’s there too, clearly filling the role of Grumpy. Jason snorts. “Yeah, okay, that shit’s pretty funny. But seriously, what the hell’s been going on? Where’s Bruce?” He’s embarrassed to hear his voice break, but he’s been through some shit, okay, and he just wants his damn dad.

Dick swallows and pulls him in a little tighter. “Let’s get you checked out really quick while we explain, alright? I’ll tell you what I know, and then Tim has some things to show you…”

It’s quite a while later when Jason sits, curled on the couch snugly between Dick and Tim as they all sip mugs of hot cocoa while watching Pride and Prejudice. A new one came out while he was fucking _dead—what the fuck—_ and he’s planning to watch the hell out of it while his brain tries to make sense of the crazy, fucked up mess that is, apparently, his life.

Maybe it should feel weird, third-wheeling and sitting between Dick and his ridiculously cute boyfriend who’s not only a goddamn _time traveller,_ he’s also insanely smart, but Jason just feels safe. At least he has a clean bill of health, whatever cosmic fuckery that raised him from the dead having apparently healed all his wounds.

As Mr. Darcy insults Lizzie on the screen, Jason’s mind turns back to the photos and footage Tim showed him, of how Bruce dealt with losing him. Well, more like how he failed to cope. He knows there’s something bad there, something they glossed over when they were telling him about how Tim showed up in this time and, for whatever reason, decided to make sure Jason woke up somewhere nice instead of in his fucking _grave,_ and isn’t _that_ thought goddamn nightmare fuel.

Jason speaks abruptly, interrupting Lizzie’s pithy summation of Mr. Darcy’s dancing abilities. “Is B hurt? Is that why it was just you guys here with me? Did Dad get himself fuckin’ _killed_ because he was so cut up when I—”

“Whoa,” Tim says, holding his hands up and glancing worriedly over to Dick. “No, hey, B’s _fine,_ I swear…”

Dick nods, oozing closer to wrap himself around Jason again because he’s a damn cuddle-monster. “It’s not anything _bad,_ really, Jay, it’s just…” He hesitates.

Jason’s heart is pounding and his hands are shaking. Whatever they’re not saying has got to be _really_ bad. He already knows Joker’s still alive, from what they said earlier, so maybe… “Is Joker free right now? Is that…?” His breathing starts to speed up, and he’s having trouble slowing it back down.

Tim gasps, looking horrified. “Oh god, _no!_ Jason, no. It’s just, well…” He closes his eyes and bites his lip before continuing softly. “There’s a new Robin.”

And Jason’s heart plummets into his shoes.

_Oh. Of course. I was shitty at it enough to get myself killed, no wonder he had to upgrade._

His eyes burn and he wants to run away, maybe climb back in his fucking coffin and hide from the rejection, but stupid Dick and his boyfriend won’t let him. They’re talking to him, both at once, stuff about some little brat with a camera who used to follow the Bats around. Who noticed when Batman started to go off the rails, and took it upon himself to change that.

Tim’s speaking rapidly, trying to reassure him. “There’s no reason there can’t be two Robins, if that’s what you want. You guys could trade off patrol, or both go out at once and confuse criminals by being in two places at the same time. And he only just started actually going out as Robin two weeks ago, so I’m sure he could use your advice—”

“If that doesn’t sound good, we’ve got the preliminary sketches for your new suit done, you just have to pick a name—” Dick adds.

Jason turns to look at him, startled out of his brooding by that. “Wait, what? New suit? The hell are you talking about?”

His brother looks surprised. “Little Wing, you were already outgrowing Robin before. If you’re ready, I figured you might want a new name and suit of your own now.”

And that… _Damn. Be my own vigilante, like Nightwing. I could get behind that._

It’s almost enough to soothe the burn at losing Robin. Almost. Jason blinks. “Wait, _you_ designed it? No offense, Dickhead, but you’re absolutely shit at designing costumes.”

Tim pipes up again then. “Oh, don’t worry, I vetted it. Made him throw out the first three designs. The new one’s actually pretty good.”

Jason raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re fuckin’ dating _Dickie,_ and now I’m supposed to trust _your_ taste?” He rolls his eyes as both men flush and stutter. “What, did you think you were being subtle about it? Idiots, you’re obviously sleeping together, living in the same house, and you finish each other’s sentences. Hell, if I hear one of you call the other ‘dear’ or ‘darling’ or what the fuck ever again one more time tonight, I’m gonna smack both of you.”

Tim blinks. “Ah. Well then.” He clears his throat, darting a panicked-looking glance toward Dick before clearly deciding to deal with that later. “Anyway, you can trust my judgement on vigilante costumes. My Robin costume had _pants,_ after all.” He reaches behind the couch to grab a folder, opening it up to what looks like a picture of a kid in an updated Robin suit and handing it over with a little smile.

As Dick and his boyfriend descend into amicable bickering, dropping enough sappy endearments to make Jason want to flee their immediate vicinity, those words fall into his mind and go off like a depth charge. Robin. _Tim_ was _Robin._

 _Oh fuck, Tim’s a time traveler, and he used to be Robin. The kid, my replacement… the one who’s wearing the scaly panties_ — _wait, guess they’re tights now_ — _that’s the younger version of Tim._

What’s left of his anger and resentment dissolves as he realizes the current, thirteen year old Robin is the same guy who came back in time and the first thing he did was help Jason. The guy he’s got half a guilty crush on already.

He flips through the folder, seeing pictures of someone who, yes, looks very much like an adorable, younger version of Tim. There are notes and case files. He’d totally be jealous because the kid seems to be a budding young detective, only he really just wants to meet the guy. “Wait, this kid’s _you?”_ Jason’s mind rushes ahead without his permission, noticing how cute and smart the new Robin seems. He’s going to grow up exactly as hot and sweet as the man Dick was lucky enough to land.

And _this_ one’s available… At least, he will be in about four or five years.

Well, Jason’s got time. He can wait. He grins, settling back to read the folder more thoroughly just as Mr. Darcy declares his affections on the screen.

* * *

Dick strokes Jason’s hair, then tucks the blankets around him where he lies nestled on the couch. His heart is so full right now that he can hardly believe it finally happened. “Thanks for waking up, Jaybird,” he whispers.

They’ll have to see about getting him a real bed for his room for when he comes to visit, now that he’s back. He catches himself thinking about breakfast with Tim tomorrow, and then freezes as he realizes that with Jason awake, there isn’t really a reason for Dick to stay here anymore.

His stomach twists as he thinks about his old apartment, gathering dust after all these months empty.

A gentle hand on his shoulder tugs him along, and he turns to follow Tim to their room. The other man is blushing, and with a rush of embarrassment, he remembers Jason’s mistaken assumption earlier. He winces. Yeah, that was definitely his fault. He just can’t seem to help flirting with Tim, and touching him, even though he knows the eighteen year old doesn’t reciprocate his interest. Of course Jay would get the wrong idea, watching them together. “Hey, Tim, sorry about earlier. Jay just assumed—”

Tim shakes his head, looking uncomfortable. “It’s fine. I’m sorry, it’s probably my fault.” He rubs a hand over his face, groaning. “I’m really obvious, aren’t I? Sorry. I’ll explain things to him in the morning.”

Dick blinks. That sounded like…

“Tim,” he says slowly, taking a step toward him. “You think Jason assumed we’re dating because of _you?”_

Tim looks up at him, flushing, and bites his lip. “Uh, yeah? I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I know you’re just teasing and don’t mean any of it seriously. It’s just, you’re _really_ attractive and I’ve cared about you all my life and sometimes I kind of want to take a bite? But like, in a good way. Oh my god, please make me stop talking.”

Dick’s grinning as he takes another step closer. He reaches out and carefully runs a hand along the other man’s face, cupping his cheek and tilting his face up. “Okay.” And he leans down and kisses him.

Tim makes a soft, surprised noise, and then he twines his arms around Dick’s shoulders, rising up on his toes to kiss him back. And _oh,_ he feels incredible. Dick is suddenly very aware that they’re both still in their underwear as they press their bodies together in all kinds of interesting ways. He’s never appreciated laundry day so much before.

Thoughts of the past five months of living together, sleeping wrapped in each other’s arms, and never being able to act on his feelings fill his mind, and he groans, pulling back slightly. “How long?” he whispers roughly in Tim’s ear. “How long have you wanted me, sweetheart?”

“From the first time I woke up in your arms, listening to your heartbeat,” Tim answers, looking at him wonderingly. “I never thought…”

Dick kisses him again. Clearly neither of them ever thought the other would be interested, and boy, was _that_ a mistake. “I thought you would be weirded out by it if I told you. Because the other me was a brother to you.”

“You’re not him.” Tim tilts his head. “Do you think of me and Timmy as the same person?”

Thinking about it, Dick realizes he really doesn’t. “No, more like he’s your little brother or something. You two are very similar, but I can already tell he’s going to grow up to be a different person.”

Tim nods. “Yeah, that’s how it feels with you and the Dick in my old universe. You and I met at totally different points in our lives, and you’ve already diverged. With the changes we’re making, things are only going to become more different.” His eyes darken. “I’d never want to kiss _him_ like _this.”_ And then he’s on his tiptoes again, pressing the sweetest, gentlest kiss to Dick’s lips.

Smirking, he deepens it, enjoying the soft gasp in response. Reaching down to cup his palms beneath that tight, firm ass that’s been teasing him for _months,_ he easily lifts the shorter man and then carries him over to the bed.

Lying back himself, Dick pulls Tim down on top of him and continues their easy, exploratory kissing. He doesn’t want to rush things. Tim is too important to him for that. No, they’ll take their time. They’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and he’s looking forward to every bit of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, waking up in glass coffin covered in JLA merch and flowers:** “The fuck? Is this—did you guys fuckin’ SNOW WHITE me?”  
>  **Dick and Tim, tumbling into the room in their underwear:** “Heck yeah we did! Also, yay you’re alive again!”  
>  **Jason:** “...” *Blinks, clearly decides to unpack that later* “Btw congrats on the hot boyfriend Dickie”  
>  **Dick and Tim, staring at each other and panicking:** “Uhhh…” *Fall all over themselves apologizing for being so obvious about their mutual crush*  
>  **Dick, cutting through the bs:** “Wait wtf we both like each other, why aren’t we kissing” *Remedies that, to Tim’s enthusiastic approval*


	6. Chapter 6

The Cave looks completely different than the dark, gloomy scene Tim remembers from when he landed in this time period. It’s brightly lit now, for one thing. For another, he can hear Timmy’s happy chatter from the direction of the mats, where it seems the boy is talking Alfred’s ear off in between running through katas while Bruce looks on, clearly amused.

There’s life, hope, and a sense of family where before there was only darkness, sorrow, and loss. It’s good. And, if everything unfolds according to plan, it’s about to get better. At his side, Dick clears his throat. All three heads snap toward them. Timmy looks confused, while Bruce’s brow furrows slightly as he stares at Tim in a measuring manner. Alfred, of course, simply eyes the new arrivals piercingly before clearing his throat. “I shall return with tea.”

Bruce moves toward them, gesturing for Timmy to stay behind. “Dick,” he says warningly. “You told me you were bringing the time traveler. Who is this?”

Dick grins and shrugs. “The time traveler.” At Bruce’s glower, he chuckles awkwardly, then continues his explanation. “Sorry, B, I know I implied in my reports that the time traveler who was giving me all that intel was an alternate version of myself. But if you read back over those reports, you’ll see I never actually identified him as Dick Grayson. I called him—”

“Robin,” Bruce finishes, incisive gaze returning to Tim. He can see the moment the man makes the connection. Those blue eyes widen before he half turns to stare at Timmy, then back at Tim. “I see. And is there a particular reason you did not see fit to inform me of the complete circumstances surrounding your guest?” It’s not quite an accusation, which just shows how much the relationship between Bruce and his first Robin has improved over the past months, working with Timmy together. Hopefully, the revelations they’re about to make won’t undo all that hard work.

Tim opens his mouth, about to start in on the lengthy but highly informative explanation he’s had prepared for the past five months in anticipation of this very moment, but he’s interrupted.

“Yeah, that would be my bad. Sorry B, they had to wait for _me_ ‘cause they didn’t wanna get your hopes up in case Tim’s plan flopped and I stayed worm food.” Jason’s unexpected voice draws all their attention over to the stairs.

_Oh my god, I don’t know why I expected him to go along with the plan and wait until we sent the signal. Jason’s such a brat, I hope he doesn’t give poor B a heart attack showing up like this out of the blue._

In front of them, Bruce has gone pale and is actually swaying on his feet. Clenching his hands, he visibly pulls himself together. “Jay-lad?” he says hoarsely. “Dick,” he entreats, not tearing his eyes away from the apparition of his dead son. “Is that…?”

Dick hurries to reassure him. “Yeah, B, it’s Jason. Like I said before, time travel was involved. Tim had a plan, but we weren’t sure if it would work. Jason—”

But Bruce clearly isn’t listening anymore. He’s moving, at the foot of the staircase reaching up, and then Jason’s in his arms.

“Dad, I’m _sorry—”_ the teen whispers hoarsely, only to be cut off by Bruce shaking his head and squeezing him tighter, grasping him like he’s afraid if he lets go, his son will be wrenched away again.

“It’s okay, Jay-lad.” Bruce sounds _broken_. “You’re okay. We’ll figure everything else out later. What matters now is, somehow, by some impossible miracle, you’re safe. You’re _alive.”_

It’s clear Jason is crying, shaking in his father’s arms. Dick lets out a soft, sad noise, and Tim reaches for him, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend to give him what comfort he can.

“I’ve got you, son.” Bruce bends his head down and holds on even tighter, shaking with suppressed emotion.

 _Thank goodness he and Dick repaired their relationship enough for him to trust this, trust_ us. _He’s already come so far, just with Alfred and Timmy and Dick all helping draw him back from his own inner darkness. I’m sure we’ll be making a detailed report and getting grilled about all of it later, but I’m so glad he’s willing to just hug Jason and accept this right now._

“I’m so _sorry,_ Jason,” Bruce takes a ragged, painful-sounding breath.

Jason leans back and blinks, looking confused. “The hell for? You’re not the one who beat the shit outta me and blew me to bits.”

Bruce’s entire body visibly flinches at the reminder, as does Dick’s. Tim squeezes him, wishing he could take away his remembered sorrow.

“It’s my fault. And… I was too late. Jay-lad, I was _too late.”_ Bruce’s voice is rough. “I am the reason you were even in danger in the first place. Jason, can you ever forgive me?” he whispers, still clutching Jason close.

“Fuck that, there’s nothing to forgive, B,” Jason says, voice watery, and buries his face in his father’s shoulder.

“Um,” says a hesitant, young-sounding voice from behind them. “Is that Robin? Because I can go back to my house now, I’m sure Mrs. Mac won’t mind bringing me meals again until my parents get home…”

Everyone’s heads snap around to frown at Timmy, who quails slightly under their attention. “No!” The Cave briefly echoes with the force of their combined shout.

Jason’s the one who continues, sniffing loudly and finally stepping away from Bruce before speaking kindly to the startled younger boy. “Naw, Timmy, you look good in the tights. Probably coulda pulled off the damn panties, too, but just as well you didn’t try. Stupid costume was _cold.”_

Timmy flushes beet red, looking like he has no idea what to do with himself, and Jason grins.

 _Well,_ Tim thinks, watching his younger alternate self and Jason exchange interested glances, _that could have gone worse._

Alfred appears at that moment, tray of what looks like hot drinks and a selection of dainty snacks in hand. Taking in the situation at a glance, the inimitable butler immediately begins distributing his largesse, murmuring quietly to Timmy as he does so. Jason wanders over to join them, giving the old man a hug which he returns after a startled pause, aged hands trembling with emotion as he grasps his grandson close. “My dear boy,” he murmurs, then breaks off, seemingly overcome.

“Aw, Alfie, I’m sorry…” Jason doesn’t seem to quite know what to do with all the attention, but he’s smiling, so that probably means things are going well. And Timmy is staring at him in awe, like he hung the moon.

Bruce finally seems to notice Tim and Dick are wrapped around each other, and an ominous glint appears in his eye. “Tim.” He raises an interrogative brow. “How long has it been since you’ve seen the slideshow?”

Tim tenses, eyeing the exits, and then meets Dick’s panicked gaze. _Oh shit. Wait, I know the perfect way to get him off our backs right now. With any luck, he’ll be too distracted from now on to ever remember or mention this again._

“Hey B,” he says, reaching for the Legacy Drive in his pocket. “I have something else you need to see. It’s about someone called Damian.”

* * *

Dick gives a contented sigh, looking out into the living room where Timmy and Jason have fallen asleep on the couch together again after playing video games. He grabs a couple of spare blankets and carries them over to spread on the boys, who don’t even stir as he tucks them in. Timmy’s been spending a lot of time over here, ostensibly getting to know his older alternate self.

Although the fact that Jason also spends a lot of time over here and the boys are practically inseparable these days probably has a lot to do with it, as well. They both seem to understand the need to give Bruce a little space now and again to spend time with just Damian, now that they’ve finally gotten him away from the League with his mother’s help.

Everyone’s glad the boys are all getting along so well, but it’s important for each of them to get one on one attention from their dad, too. Dick’s just happy to spend time with any and all of his little brothers.

_Although I also like a little alone time with my boyfriend once in a while. Now where did he wander off to?_

He heads back to the kitchen, searching for Tim, then wanders out to the balcony where he finds his boyfriend curled on the padded patio bench. He’s sipping what Dick optimistically hopes is hot cocoa but, realistically, is most likely coffee.

Huffing a laugh, Dick sits down next to him, tugging and repositioning them until he has Tim tucked in his arms, head resting on his chest. “Ah, that’s nice,” he sighs, wrapping himself around the warm, wonderful man who came into his life eight months ago and changed _everything._

“Mmm,” Tim agrees, sipping at what’s definitely coffee. “Boys asleep?”

“Yep. I should probably carry them into Jason’s room at some point, or they’re going to regret it.” Later, though. Right now, he’s got an armful of Tim, and he has no intention of moving for a while.

Of course, that’s the moment the air _flickers_ like an old tape skipping, and then suddenly there’s a guy standing on their balcony with them. “Holy _shit!”_ Dick whips out the spare escrima he keeps under the patio bench and leaps into a defensive stance, trying to put himself between Tim and—wait… “Tim?” he bursts out, whipping his head back and forth between _his_ Tim and the man dressed as Red Robin, who is facing off against them.

Tim, clutching the bo-staff he materialized from somewhere and trying to elbow his way in front of Dick, probably in a doomed attempt to shield him from harm using his own tiny body to draw fire, pauses at that. He stares at the intruder, who stares back mutely at them, and then starts to laugh. “Oh my god, you actually _followed me?_ How?” He lowers his bo-staff, still chuckling.

Dick blinks, trying to process what’s happening right now. Extra Tim? “Huh?”

Meanwhile, the unknown Red Robin is slowly relaxing his stance. He seems disoriented, head tilting as though to follow the sounds of their voices. Dick wouldn’t be surprised if something about whatever travel method he used to get here left him temporarily flash-blinded.

Tim’s still eagerly talking, commenting on the array of weaponry visible on the man in front of them. “Wow, you came prepared. Is that an electromagnetic pulse gun…? And those modified grenades look _nasty,_ what were you expecting… _oh._ Gotcha. Rescue mission. I don’t know if I should thank you for coming to save me, or resent your underestimating my ability to avoid getting myself into a shitty situation here.”

Rescue mission?

Red Robin finally pushes off the cowl. Tim’s face blinks at them, then breaks into a smile. “I’ve been worried about you. Of course I found a way to come and find you. You’re _me,_ and you were lost somewhere in time in a totally new universe. I couldn’t just leave you here alone, never knowing what had happened to you.” He bites his lip, then shrugs. “You know you would’ve done the same.”

“Oh my god,” Dick says, finally putting the pieces together. “You’re from Tim’s original universe. The one who stayed, while Tim ended up being thrown here.”

He’s spent some time thinking about the universe Tim came from, the one from which his own diverged at the moment of Tim’s arrival here. They’ve talked about it, sometimes, curled around each other in bed late at night, spent and lax and on the verge of sleep. But he’d never thought it would have any impact on their reality. Tim had been so certain there would be no way for anyone in either universe to even find the other, let alone reach out to them.

He smiles ruefully, only now realizing their mistake. This is _Tim._ They should’ve expected him to find a way.

“Hey,” Red Robin says. “So, I can stay for a few hours before I have to go back. I figure we can hang out a bit, catch up…” He checks out their posture, both still curled protectively around each other, then tilts his head. “Were you guys… cuddling on the bench when I got here?” At Tim’s immediate blush, his eyes widen in apparent shock. “Wait, _really?_ You and _Dick?”_ He blushes as well.

Dick smirks, enjoying the unexpected sight of _two_ blushing Tims. Timmy doesn’t count, he’s a baby. “Are you surprised?” he teases. “I’m not _that_ bad a prospect, am I?”

Both Tims roll their eyes and cross their arms in an eerily synchronized gesture. “No, Dick, we all know you’re amazing,” Red says. “It’s just weird for me because I’m with Jay, in my universe.”

Tim’s brows fly up and he whistles. “Okay, I have _got_ to hear how _that_ happened.” He picks up his coffee cup, discarded when they jumped to their feet earlier at Red Robin’s arrival, and then makes a sad noise when he discovers the coffee all spilled out. Red Robin makes a similar noise, presumably from sympathy.

_Oh god, he’s such an adorable dork. They both are. Fine, I’ll make coffee at night, but just this once. Having your alternate universe self show up sounds like an occasion that calls for celebratory coffee._

“I’ll make you guys another pot,” he says, slipping past them to go back into the apartment. Both Tims turn happy smiles on him, bright blue eyes sparkling, and he gulps at the sudden tightness in his pants. This experience is going to spark some interesting fantasies, he can already tell.

“Thanks, studmuffin,” Tim purrs, pressing against his side and rising up for a kiss.

Dick sees Red Robin mouthing ‘studmuffin?’ while looking mildly appalled, and he snorts a laugh. “You’re welcome, honeybunny.” And he walks into the apartment, laughing softly at the sound of Red Robin’s indignant voice and Tim’s hurried explanations.

_This is going to be so much fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Batman, eyeing intruder in Cave:** “Dick, who is this and why did you bring an unauthorized person here” *Wields batarang in a menacing manner*  
>  **Dick, throwing his arms in the air like the world’s biggest drama king:** “THIS is why I never bring boys home!”  
>  **Tim, edging his way out from behind Dick:** “Yo B, I time traveled and saved Jason” *Pulls Jason out from behind his back*  
>  **Jason, waving at a stricken Bruce:** “Yo” *Grunts as Bruce barrels into him, clutching him to his chest* “I missed you too, Dad”  
>  **Timmy, attempting to edge quietly out of Cave:** “Okay, guess I’m not needed here anymore. I’m off back to my cold, lonely life alone—”  
>  **Everyone:** “Hell no!”  
>  **Jason, grabbing Timmy and tucking him protectively under his arm:** “Naw, you’re ours now. Finders keepers”  
>  **Red Robin, popping into existence in this universe just in time to catch Tim and Dick in celebratory kiss:** “Welp, whatever the heck is going on right now, this clearly calls for marshmallows” *Produces bag, shares it with all the Tims* “I’m just glad I didn’t find you trapped in an interrogation cell”  
>  **Tim, mouth stuffed with marshmallows:** “Me too” *Smiles around marshmallows as he’s captured in a Dick-hug* “Damn I love my life”  
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and big thanks to Salazarastark for running Dicktim Week! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for the betas and support while I was writing this, especially Themandylion (Clarityhiding), who helped talk me through some of my concerns about plot points around Jason’s revival, and also suggested decorating his casket like Snow White. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


End file.
